Please Remain Indoors
by howtodisappearcompletely
Summary: "It is 472 days since the Event. The season is currently: the Dark Season. This is the Survival Broadcast for March: We have had no further contact from Washington since connection was lost, there are no new developments to report. Please remain indoors." Hiding underground with the other survivors, Kyle has all but given up. But is everyone else really dead?
1. Chapter 1

"It is 472 days since the Event.

The season is currently: the Dark Season.

This is the Survival Broadcast for March:

We have had no further contact from Washington since connection was lost, there are no new developments to report.

Please remain indoors."

The small screen crackled and went black. Someone started crying. Someone always started crying.

Kyle stood up slowly and walked away from the TV set. That was the 14th broadcast like that they'd sat through, and still people expected something different. Did they expect to be told they could all just go run out onto the streets and celebrate? No, the time when that seemed possible was long gone.

He lay down in his bunk, staring at the corrugated iron roof above him. The room was dark, the only light a faint glow coming from a ceiling light in the center of the bunker, but it was just enough for Kyle to read with. He reached under the mattress and pulled out an envelope, opening it up and sliding the contents. Slowly he began to read:

"Carbon is present in all life. It is a chemical element with the symbol C and the atomic number 6. Carbon can take many forms including diamond, coal..." This was their 7th grade science project together. It had taken them ages, with big diagrams and lots of interesting examples of carbon in the universe. He had done most of the work, of course, but he never cared; it had been so much fun, even though at the time they'd rather have been outside playing at the time. It didn't matter what they had been doing, just doing it together meant it wouldn't suck. Maybe even this wouldn't have sucked.

Kyle picked up a photo of them both at the beach. They were both shirtless, and Stan had his arm around Kyle's waste. He could remember that day perfectly, right down to the stupid grin Stan was pulling, and how he hated himself for blushing when Stan had wrapped his arm around his bare skin to pose for that photo. At this point it would be normal for someone to cry, or at least have a solitary tear roll down the cheek and drip onto the photo, wouldn't it? There was no such thing from Kyle though, because crying was linked to denial, the refusal to accept someone as truly gone, or the refusal to accept your life without them. Kyle had accepted it for a while now, and he didn't even wish Stan was still here; he wouldn't wish this life on anyone, let alone Stan. There was nothing left to cry about.

"Well what ideas have you got, Randy? Or are you just going to stand there and tell us how fucked we all are?" Kyle got up and moved quietly towards the door of the storeroom where he could hear this noise coming from.

"I - I don't know, but we can't just sit here and starve, Gerald!" Randy replied, raising his voice. Clearly people were having a not-so-secret meeting in there.

"Shh, Randy!" Sharon loudly chastised her husband, before adding in a more hushed voice, "what if the children hear you?"

"You think they don't know?! They use this store room too; they can see how little food we have left!" It was true, Kyle had seen the number of tin cans and powdered meal packets they had stored there depleting with each passing day. It was something of a miracle they had managed to gather enough to last them this long.

"Maybe Randy has a point." That was Jimbo, siding unsurprisingly with his half-brother. "We 'aint got enough food to last us till next month's broadcast thingy, so what's the point just waiting here?" Kyle got the feeling he was being watched, and turned to see Ike and Butters staring at him.

"What's going on in there?" Asked Ike, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Kyle watched as Butters instantly put his arm around the younger boy and pulled him close, that sort of behaviour being second nature to him.

"Nothing, they are just having a talk about what we're going to eat tonight." Butters said gently, "Isn't that right Kyle?"

"Er, yeah. Something about the powdered chicken curry or rice and beans."

"Eugh" Ike grunted, turning away and removing himself from Butters half-embrace. "I hate both of those!" He gave Kyle one more questioning look, letting him know he wasn't entirely sold by that explanation, before walking back across the long narrow bunker towards his own bed. Ike was probably old enough to deserve better than that kind of basic lie, he was nearly 12 now, but something about Butters' quick response was hard to argue with. Kyle wondered if maybe it was more about Butters not wanting to know what was going on in there than it was about protecting Ike.

He turned to go back to listening at the door but it swung open just as he reached it, the six or seven adults inside pouring out and pretending to be mid-way through a trivial conversation about books or something. To be honest Kyle wasn't that interested anyway; he didn't care much whether they starved down in Jimbo's nuclear bunker, which had been their home for the last 18 months, or if they went up and faced whatever the nightmare on the surface was. Dying is dying, whether you do it underground or above it. He went back to his bunk and collected everything back into the envelope.

_"Stan!" Kyle yelled, "Where's Stan?!" He looked around frantically as his parents dragged him along behind them, arms full of long-lasting food and bottled water._

_"I'm not going down there without him, we can't leave him!" He screamed, "You can't make me!" He tore away from his parents and ran towards Sharon as she began to climb the ladder down into the bunker, "Where is he?!"_

_He felt someone grab him by the waist and lift him up, unfazed by his kicks and yells. "You have to get in now, there's no time..." the voice behind him said, lifting him above the entrance and passing him towards a waiting pair of hands._

_"Kyle," He looked around to see Sharon looking up at him from the bottom of the ladder, "Stan was...out...walking Sparky, we don't know where he is..." she was sobbing in between words, breathing deeply before continuing, "we looked as long as we could Kyle, he...he wasn't answering his phone...we couldn't wait any longer!" _

Kyle blinked repeatedly, still frozen with his hand gripping the brown envelope as it sat halfway hidden under the mattress. He had stopped crying months ago, but the flashbacks weren't getting any less frequent, or any more manageable. It was unfair, Stan had the easy way out; he was free of this hell, so why did he choose to carry on tormenting his best friend like this?

"C'mon Kyle, let's get some food." He looked up to see Kenny standing over him, holding a hand out. "You're wasting away dude."

"Okay." He replied, taking Kenny's hand to haul himself up. "Thanks Kenny," he said, but he didn't just mean for helping him up, he meant for rescuing him from one of his cycles of bad thoughts, like he always did. For keeping him sane in this place. Even if he could think of no other reason to try and survive, and he was pretty sure he couldn't, he would try to somehow, for Kenny's sake, and Ike's. They all knew how it felt to lose people close to you, and he wouldn't inflict it on them again if he could help it.

X

_Okay so this is a new story, probably quite a short one (a 2 shot most likely, maybe a little longer depending on how it goes)._

_As always please feel free to let me know what you think, it's appreciated!_


	2. Chapter 2

"Is he waking up?"

"I doubt it. He's been slipping in and out of consciousness for weeks…"

"Can he hear us?"

"Maybe. If he can he should know he needs to wake up fast…"

"Fuck him, why are we wasting supplies on him anyway?"

"I think his eyes are closing again…"

X

Kyle had become something of a master at salvaging every last drop from the ration packets. The trick was in opening the other end as well once most of it was out, so you could get at the scraps around the corners.

"There are 25 flavours." Ike said suddenly, looking down at one of the packets. It was his turn to prepare the meal and Ike always liked to help out and keep him company. "25 flavours, and Jimbo must have bought thousands of these, yet all we have is chicken curry, meatballs with pasta and rice and beans. That gets me every time."

Kyle laughed, "Yeah I noticed that too. Why rice and beans as well? Some of those other types sound infinitely better…"

"It is Jimbo we're talking about," Ike whispered, leaning a little closer to him, "This is a man who built a nuclear bunker in his back garden – they have whole TV shows about oddballs like that. They call them preppers apparently."

"Ike," Kyle started, taking the pan of water off the heat as it started to bubble, "Do you realise how stupid that sounds coming from someone who's only alive thanks to that oddballs bunker?"

"I know, I know. Obviously I'm glad, but I still think it's nuts. I guess it's the whole 'I can look after myself no matter what' thing, y'know, like the guns and the hunting…"

"Ah, shit!" Kyle muttered, nursing the hand he had just scalded with a little hot water. "Well in that case we should be extra thankful he was crazy enough to spend the extra money on the solar panels and the water purifier!"

Ike just laughed, following behind him and stirring the water into the freeze-dried food in each mess tin. Kyle was careful to add a little extra to his mom's tin, since she had been feeling ill for the last few days. Going down to just half a packet each per day had been rough on everyone, but no one would object to Sheila getting an extra spoonful. He carried the tin over to her as soon as it was ready, and she sat up in the bunk a little as he approached. She looked horribly thin, making her head seem out of proportion suddenly, like one of those bobble-heads you stuck on the end of a pencil. She smiled and took the tin from him, but he didn't linger; considering the tight space they were in they had to be vigilant about staying away from anyone ill, or they would all be a mess of phlegm and groaning in no time.

The rest of the group ate together, sitting on the ends of bunks in a makeshift circle. It was the only communal thing they really did, but mostly they ate in relative silence, speaking only to the people directly next to them. The portions were tiny, not enough to even begin to take away the feeling of hunger, but just enough to give them the energy to get out of bed each morning. At first they had been eating two packet meals each per day, now they were at just half of one, and the effects were showing in everyone; faces looked thinner and more jagged, the mood was sullen.

"Kyle, are you alright?" He looked round to see Butters staring at him with a worried expression.

"I'm fine, Butters, just thinking."

"Ok. You sure do have a knack for cooking Kyle, the food is always better when you make it." Butters said, grinning before putting another forkful in his mouth.

"It's only adding water!" Kyle replied, laughing. One comment like that from Butters could put him at ease instantly.

"Well you add just the right amount of water then."

"That's possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Kyle said with a smile, "but thank you, Butters."

He kept scraping at his tin until his reflection was staring back at him, removing any evidence that food had ever been present on its metal surface. His own face looked a little haunting now, and he ran his finger alone the orbital bones around his eyes, which seemed somehow sunken. He hadn't really looked at himself in months, and now he had he was wishing he could remove the image from his mind; the face he had been looking at couldn't possibly be his, since that face belonged to someone who was dying. He knew he was starving, they all were, but he had naively assumed that the others were faring worse than he was. He moved slowly to his bunk and lay down, staring at the same point in the ceiling that had occupied his eyes for the last year and a half. It had been three weeks since he'd overheard the strange discussions in the store room, so he knew there was no reason to be surprised. Jimbo had thought they wouldn't make it to the next broadcast, so by that estimate they had less than a week left.

"Can I join you?" Kyle looked down to see Kenny standing at the side of his bed. You really couldn't get five minutes to yourself down here, with thirteen people in a room made for around six, but once again Kyle found himself thinking that wasn't such a bad thing. He nodded at Kenny, but instead of going to his own adjacent bunk the blond boy stretched out right next to him on the hard narrow canvas. They stayed there facing each other in silence for some time before either spoke.

"Do you really think there's no chance that any of the others survived?" Kenny asked eventually. "And don't bullshit me, I want to know what you really, honestly think."

"I'm sorry Kenny, I really am, it's just-" Kyle hesitated, he was talking to someone who had lost both parents and a brother after all, but he had been asked for an honest answer and he owed Kenny that. "We're in the only nuclear bunker in South Park, I highly doubt there's another one. Even if there is it has been a year and a half, it's a minor miracle that we've had enough food to last this long." Kyle reached out and touched Kenny's arm, feeling like he had to make some gesture to close the gap with the boy lying next to him. He was uncomfortable at best in moments like these, but from the look on Kenny's face it had helped. "The thing is, we're all going to end up in the same place, we've just waited a little longer to get there." Kenny knew he wasn't really religious anymore, but he hoped that wouldn't take too much away from his attempt at a comforting answer.

"I could never think like you." Kenny began, just as the low energy lamp that lit the room was turned off for the night. "To be so sure and so rational, it's just not me. My mind won't let me stop wondering if maybe they're okay somehow, or maybe next month we'll be told it's safe to go outside again. After all we're stuck down here, we don't _know _anything."

Kyle wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he didn't. He wondered too, sometimes, but deep down he couldn't find any genuine hope. He felt Kenny shift uncomfortably a little next to him, and could tell even in the dark that he was nervous or agitated now. Someone was breathing loudly in their sleep near them, almost snoring, and he could hear Karen and Ike sharing a hushed conversation on the other side of the room, though he couldn't make out what was being said. He turned away so his back was facing the other boy, and hoped it would give the impression he was done with this conversation.

"You love him don't you?" Kenny asked suddenly, and Kyle realised then that he had been clutching at the large envelope hidden under his mattress subconsciously, but it must have made some sound enough for Kenny to notice in the pitch black. "Don't worry, I haven't looked inside it. I'm just assuming."

"It's memories." He replied, "We didn't have long to grab stuff from the house, and I had been using it to keep my favorite things. I'd been waiting to get a scrapbook I guess. You're in there too, you know." He let the silence hang for a moment after that, before deciding against it. He didn't want to leave the conversation like that, having passed up the only real chance he'd ever really had to say it out loud. "But yes, I did love him."

He felt Kenny's arm come across him and pull their bodies together, so he could feel the rise and fall of his friend's chest against his back. They were essentially spooning, he thought, a little amused at the idea.

"I know I can't ever be him," Kyle felt breath tickling his ear as he listened, "But I don't want to spend the last few days alone." He felt small kisses being planted against his neck and shoulder, and he froze up, every muscle in his body tensing at the touch. "I need to be close to someone, do you want that too?"

"I – I think so."

X

_So as you can see it isn't over!_

_I want to say a big thank you to Little Wolf Vamp Hearts Yaoi, FluffyBunny2k11, Montana-Bob and the lovely guests who reviewed, it really means a lot. After reading some of the reviews my mind started running away with the idea of making this story longer than a two shot, and I've officially re-organised it in my mind as 'multi-chapter', which knowing me could mean anything. So you can't say I never listen to you guys!_


	3. Chapter 3

Stan didn't remember going to bed, though judging from his pounding headache, he didn't need three guesses to figure out why. It felt like his skull had been chosen as the site for a permanent flash mob. It wasn't his usual hangover though, he didn't feel nauseous, just quite dazed, and all his muscles ached. He tried to remember the night before, but there was nothing there. The day on the other hand he could remember perfectly: Kyle had kissed him. Not for the first time, that had been on the Monday, when he'd suddenly done the thing Stan had spent years trying to build up the courage to do. They had kissed six times now, not that he was keeping count. The day of lying in Kyle's room watching crap movies and holding each other was possibly the best of his life. Right now though he needed aspirin for his head badly, before the feeling of railroad spikes being pushed through his brain got any worse.

He was careful to open his eyes slowly; usually he woke up at around noon after a night of drinking, and being blinded by the midday sun coming through his curtains wouldn't exactly help his condition. He was more than a little surprised to find his room was pitch black. In fact, although he couldn't see he got a strange feeling that this wasn't his room at all, it felt somehow...too big. Trying to feel around his arms felt weak and tired, and he was certain now that this wasn't his bed. Though waking up somewhere else wasn't unheard of for him, it wasn't exactly commonplace either (unless you counted Kyle's house). Something was seriously wrong here, with this strange hangover and his complete mental blank about the previous night. There was something agitating his nose as well, but when he reached up to relieve the itch his fingers met something plastic. Stan panicked. He tried to rip off whatever was attached to his nose but the sudden movement sent him crashing off the bed, hitting the ground with a dull thump. He tried to move but his arms and legs felt heavy, as if the blood coursing through his veins was now molten lead, pinning his limbs to the thin mattress.

"What the fuck was that?! Wake up!"

"Relax, I think your friend just fell off the bed. Kevin, grab the light." Stan couldn't move, but he could just about hear what was being said. He'd wondered if maybe he was at Hell's Pass, in hospital, but that was clearly not the case. He had a horrible feeling that the first voice he'd heard was -

"That fag's not my friend, just leave him on the floor and we can go back to sleep. He's a fucking vegetable anyway." Cartman.

Then a strange whirring noise started, at first very quiet then building to a high pitched mechanical hum, before the room suddenly lit up in a flash of white agony and Stan's eyes shut. He waited a second and tried to open them slowly again, but the light that crept in was still unbearably bright, making him groan with pain.

"Is he awake?" Stan heard a female voice ask faintly.

He wanted to reply, but 'yes I'm awake' came out as unintelligible moans.

"Oh my, sweety help me get him back onto the bed." Spoke the female voice, who he now recognised as Liane Cartman. He felt someone grab under his arms and another at his feet as he was hoisted up onto the bed. He tried to open his eyes again, lasting a little longer this time before he had to clamp them shut again. He felt something else disturbing him, and under the night gown he seemed to be wearing he felt a plastic jug of some kind, again held in place by tape. It must have been some kind of basic substitute for a catheter, but it had come loose from his fall so he managed to knock it free and away from the bed. He felt totally and utterly petrified, and violated by it all.

"Well this is surprising. It was worth the effort after all." Stan still wasn't quite sure whose the third voice was. His pupils finally adjusted enough for him to look around, and he realised the light that had been 'blinding him' wasn't some floodlight or neon bulb; in fact, the whirring noise he'd heard should have given him a clue...it was one of those windup, battery-free torches. It was pitiful, but had been enough to render his eyes useless for a good few minutes. The room was still so dark he couldn't see beyond the couple of empty beds either side of him and some plastic containers on shelves directly in front. He looked to see who was holding the torch, and could barely believe it when he saw Dr Mephesto standing next to his freakish son Kevin. He tried to claw the tube away from his nose again, his mind flooded with terrifying images of kidnap, drugging and scientific experimentation on his listless body.

"What the fuck is this?!" Stan screamed, the words coming out as hoarse yelps but managing to convey the message. He had been drugged and taken here, by Cartman most likely, to be part of some sick experiment. His back was drenched in sweat now, and he felt like his heart was straining as it tried to keep pumping at a furious rate. His body was telling him to run, this was fight or flight, but he could barely lift his arms.

"Ssh it's okay, we're trying to help you, you're safe." Liane whispered, having slipped away at some point and returned with a cup, filled with just a tiny amount of water. "Here take a drink. No one is trying to hurt you." For some reason Stan was calmed by that, possibly because as much as he could envision Cartman doing this to him – whatever 'this' was – his mother didn't seem to have a dangerous bone in her body. After a couple sips of water Stan tried yet again to muster the strength to remove the breathing tubes, which must have been used to administer some kind of drugged gas making him immobile. Dr Mephesto reached over and began to help him, slowly removing the strips of tape which held the apparatus in place. Something that looked a bit like a drip was removed from his arm as well.

"Don't look so worried young man," Dr Mephesto began, following the clear tube with his hands as it led away from Stan's face. "Look!" He pointed to the other end, which he was now holding in the air. It wasn't attached to anything. Just then the whirring stopped and the room was returned to utter darkness.

"Oh he must be so tired!" Stan heard Liane say, and after a brief pause the noise – and then the light – returned, only this time Cartman's mother was the one turning the crank on the side of the torch to keep it functioning, while Kevin stood next to her nursing his aching arm. It was all so bizarre that he just couldn't make sense of any of it in his head. He wondered if this was maybe some trippy nightmare, but the pain behind his eyes was far too real.

"They were only used for air." Mephesto continued, the slightly wild look in his eyes undermining any attempt at being reassuring. "Well, oxygen rich air. You were having problems breathing so we had to make sure you were getting enough. We left them in so we could reconnect you quickly if necessary, but you were only on the air tanks for the first few days."

"Days?!" Stan spluttered, his mind spinning. He coughed dryly with the effort of forcing another word out.

"You were in an accident sweety." Liane added, sensing Stan's inevitable confusion. "You were hit by a car..."

He tried to open his mouth to ask more questions: to find out how long he was out for, why they didn't take him to the hospital, whether his parents knew, but his breathing was ragged and his vision started to blur. His heart was still not easing, almost smashing against his ribs with every throb, and now he was panicking that this was because of them, because of something they did to him while he was passed out. Then he felt his eyes closing, and though he knew he should fight it, or else maybe he'd never wake up again, he simply couldn't – it was like the rolling in of the tide, so Stan gave in to the inevitable.

When he woke again, he was genuinely glad to find himself still in that hell hole, it meant he was alive at least. He didn't buy the 'hit by a car' story one bit, not just because he was generally a cautious pedestrian or anything trivial like that, but because it didn't even begin to explain why he was kept here and not a hospital, or why they were keeping him in total darkness, or why Cartman and his mom were still here. No, something bad was happening here, and he had to lay low until he felt strong enough to make a break for it, since at least he wasn't tied down.

He lay there as silently as he could, just tensing and then relaxing his muscles one by one, trying to get some life back in them. They had all gone back to bed, judging from the lack of noise, so he didn't know how long he had before this opportunity would be gone. Eventually he could notice the difference, and his legs were some way back to being normal, able to be moved without the enormous effort it required earlier. It felt to Stan like a few hours had passed, so he figured he was running out of time to make his move. Silently he turned and lowered his legs onto the floor, slowly adjusting to the feeling of bearing weight on them. He looked around, but it was pointless, he couldn't see his own hands let alone where an exit might be. The best idea seemed to be heading for a wall and feeling his way to a door, so Stan began to move, his arms outstretched and grasping at the air as he tried to navigate. He made sure to breathe slowly, in through the nose and out through the mouth, to keep his nerves under control and his heart rate down.

"Hello? Stan is that you?" Stan bolted as soon as he heard the voice, running and just hoping it would lead to a way out, praying for the bit of luck he was due. In reality though his feet couldn't keep up, and he stumbled, slamming into something solid and falling to the ground, followed by a crescendo of high pitched crashes as unidentified glass broke around him.

"Aw Jesus Stan, what the fuck!" He heard Cartman shout, and the whirring of that stupid wind up torch started. He was hauled to his feet as they cursed about the damage around him, and Stan could feel the warmth of a trickle of blood running down his arm where some glass had embedded itself.

"What were you doing? Trying to run off?" Liane asked, appearing at his side and touching his shoulder gently.

"Let me go!" Stan yelled, but it came out more of a desperate yelp than an assertive shout. "What do you want with me?"

"Nothing!" Dr Mephesto said, completing the party surrounding him. "You're free to go if you please." He was speaking loudly compared with his usually frail sounding voice.

"Alphonse!" Liane exclaimed, her surprised remark reminding Stan of Mephesto's first name.

"However," the doctor continued, "you should know that we were only trying to help you, and if you leave now you will not survive."

"What the hell are you talking about? What's wrong with me?" Stan asked, exasperated by his own confusion. He could feel his certainty that they had been trying to harm him ebbing away though, as hearing them speak he struggled to find any malice in any of their voices.

"There are some things you need to know, but it's too much to overload you with now. You need to relax, have a little to eat, and then we can start trying to explain this to you." They were speaking in total darkness again, as Cartman muttered some complaint and wandered back to his bed, leaving the light from the torch to slowly dim and disappear.

"Either you explain now or I'm walking out of here." There was a silence after that, like the pair were trying to communicate with each other somehow and decide how to respond.

"You're sure this is what you want Stanley?" Liane asked, gently reaching through the nothingness to touch his shoulder.

"Tell me everything."

X

_Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter, everyone who has been enthusiastic about this story has gotten me really excited about where I'm going to go with it! So thanks. FluffyBunny2K11, Montana-Bob, N, 24601 I'm looking at you ;)_


	4. Chapter 4

For some reason Stan didn't question it. Any of it. It didn't matter that it was ridiculous, or almost unbelievable, he could just tell it was true. They had been right to worry about telling him, since he had thrown up twice and felt on the verge of fainting, but he'd goaded them into continuing anyway. It had felt at first like a black hole had formed inside his mind, ripping apart everything around it and leaving a vacant, timeless void were his thoughts should be.

"They're okay." He said, feeling like he had to respond somehow now they were finished talking. They both gave him a look, Liane's was sympathetic, almost pitying, and Alphonse's was more confused. "My family. And Kyle." He clarified, "you said there was time, everyone had some time to get inside and hide right? They'll be in Jimbo's bunker..."

"I hope you're right honey. I really do." Stan ignored the obvious lack of belief in her voice. He knew they were alive, they had to be. The universe wasn't so cruel that it would snatch Kyle away from him as quickly as he'd got him; he wouldn't, couldn't believe it. He'd made a conscious decision not to dwell on what he'd been told and to keep moving forward; if he stopped and thought about it all he felt like he might shutdown completely, like he was on a treadmill at the edge of a cliff and standing still meant certain death.

"What was it then...y'know, this 'event'?" They'd told him everything except that fairly major detail. He knew how he'd been walking Sparky and was hit by a car racing home to prepare for the impending disaster, and Liane was rushing home with Eric too, but stopped to drag him inside. They'd stayed down here in the basement lab of the ranch, eating the industrial quantities of animal feed meant for the test subjects, or in Stan's case the IV fluid Mephesto concocted for him. Judging from the lack of any sound of animal life down here though, Stan wondered if maybe the test subjects themselves had been 'utilised' as well - not that he could blame them if they had of course. The actual reason for all of this had never been explained though, not beyond those two words: the Event.

"That's the point, dipshit. We don't fucking know." Cartman snorted, and though it was pitch black - they rarely bothered actually using the wind up torch - Stan could hear that he was munching his way through something, probably a bag of high-protein food pellets. "We know what it _does _though."

"Well what does it 'do' then?" Stan asked, letting himself get annoyed by Cartman's tone.

"Well, this place has CCTV - or it did before we lost power - because Dr. Frankenstein over here was such a recluse-"

"Eric!" Liane interrupted, "don't be so rude!"

"Anyway, as I was saying, we could watch what was happening, out on the street..." There was a pause punctuated by some loud chewing, before Cartman continued, "It burned people. Like, from the inside out."

"What? What burned people?" Stan fought hard against images of Kyle in flames, or screaming in agony.

"I don't fucking know! The air. Or light. Or just being outside. We only saw a couple of people in the cameras. It was badass, though." Stan heard Cartman being chastised by his mom again, but as usual ignoring her. "That's probably what happened to your Jew-rat of a fuck buddy, burned up like an ant under a magnifying glass."

"Fuck you!" Stan screamed, hurling himself through the darkness to where he knew Cartman was, and lashing out again and again. He couldn't think or even breathe, he was just filled with rage that he'd said something like that.

"Jesus!" Cartman yelped, hurling Stan off him; he had almost as bulky as before, and unlike Stan's frailer shape you couldn't tell he'd been supposedly barely surviving for months. "Fucking psycho."

"Kyle isn't dead, don't you ever fucking speak about him like that." Stan was breathing heavily and could taste blood in his mouth, probably from a retaliatory elbow to the face in the scuffle.

"You're such a fag, you're more worried about him than your family..." Cartman muttered, but though Stan expected to feel angry at that he didn't; it wasn't entirely untrue.

"So you don't know what caused it then?" He asked eventually, sensing calm had returned in the room.

"No, like I said, we don't know. Maybe terrorists, or probably God trying to wipe out all the ethnic minorities at last..."

"Eric! For goodness sake, please stop talking like that."

"Dr Mephesto, do you have any idea?" Stan asked, hoping for a more informed answer from someone else.

"I'm afraid not, at this stage everything is a possibility. We can't even rule out extra-terrestrial interference as an option..."

"I'm surrounded by lunatics..." Cartman sighed, letting out a belch. "I'm telling you, it's divine wrath."

They sat in silence for a while, Stan keeping himself occupied by stretching out his muscles and easing the stiffness he still felt in all his joints. He couldn't escape the feeling that time was ebbing away while they sat around, and that he should be doing something. The handful of biscuits he was given for a meal were flavourless but filling, the smell reminding him a little of Sparky's dog chow. Water seemed to be a far more precious commodity, with each of them only given the tiniest sip. That coupled with the dryness of the food left his mouth feeling parched, and running his tongue along the roof of it felt like dragging a wet dish cloth through the Mojave desert - the arid ground would suck up all the moisture, and it had no real effect on easing the thirst.

"What are we going to do then? Do you guys have- is there like a, plan, or something?" Stan asked after a while, trying to move things forward.

"No we don't." Cartman said angrily, "and I've been complaining about this for a while. I still think we should the monkey-kid Kevin out to see if it's safe again." Judging from the lack of an angry reply Kevin still wasn't much of a talker, as Stan could hear him breathing gently next to him but he offered no response.

"I think since I've been kind enough share my precious supplies with you, it should be one of you who checks." Mephesto muttered on Kevin's behalf.

"How about Stan then? He's been the most inconvenient to us all, let's send him out!" Cartman said, actually sounding serious about the idea. "All in favour?"

"I bet you've eaten the most. Jesus, you're still fat for fuck's sake, if it should be anyone it's you." There was no way in hell Stan was risking his life for Eric Cartman. "So are you guys just planning on sitting down here for ever, waiting for something to happen?"

"It's possible that the power will come back on before we run out of water, telling us it's safe." Mephesto said, though he hardly sounded convinced.

"And if it doesn't? You're a scientist, can't you try and figure it out?"

"I'm a geneticist, our realm is very specific. I'm hardly equipped to solve an apocalypse; we can't go outside to run tests or take samples, and we have no power. When we run out of water we will have to take the risk of going out, it's as simple as that."

"I can't be a part of that!" Stan said, finding himself growing increasingly uncomfortable with the defeatist attitude everyone else seemed to have. "Is there any way I could get to Jimbo's bunker from here, without, you know, burning?"

"No." Mephesto replied bluntly. "From what we've seen it takes just a couple of minutes before it happens, so unless you want to take the gamble that everything has mysteriously corrected itself I wouldn't recommend it."

"There must be something we can do!" Stan heard Cartman snort a derogatory laugh at that comment. "Do you know about anyone else at all that survived?"

"In the first few weeks, before the power stopped, there was a TV broadcast. It said it was coming from the basement of the City and Council Building in Denver. That's the only other people we've heard from I'm afraid." Liane said, her calm voice still something of a tonic for Stan's nerves.

"So that's it. You can't figure out what's wrong, and we can't leave here. If we can't get to Jimbo's place we sure as hell can't get all the way to Denver." It did seem a little stupid in hindsight that he'd woken up and thought that by suggesting obvious things he might somehow figure out how to save them.

"That isn't strictly true…" Mephesto said gently, something in his voice giving the impression that he was in deep thought.

"What isn't?" Stan couldn't help but let hope flare up inside him again.

"That there's no way to reach Denver from here." Mephesto coughed dryly as he spoke, leaving lengthy pauses between words which Stan struggled not to be infuriated by. "The ranch has access to the industrial sized gas mains; it was built to have direct access to the main pipeline running into South Park, since running the facilities here requires abnormally high usage. That pipeline comes from Denver."

"What so you're saying we could crawl up the gas pipe to Denver?"

"You could, it's a pipe for the whole area so it's definitely wide enough, though I must admit I don't see what good it would do you. Even if you did get to Denver you'd be forced to go outside then." The resigned tone of Dr Mephesto's voice was not affecting Stan though, as his mind was in overdrive now, thinking that somehow this must be important.

"The death doesn't start instantly though, does it? Maybe we'd have enough time to get down into the sewers or something, and get to the City Hall or whatever it was like that."

"How would you find it in the sewers, dickwad? That is even if you somehow found your way into them before being burnt to a crisp." Cartman interjected, but the fact that he was suddenly interested was a good thing, they were making progress.

"Well, does anyone know Denver well enough to know roughly what direction we would have to go? It would be a long shot but maybe it's better than just waiting here." At some point in the last couple of interchanges Stan had made his mind up already anyway. Other people, especially ones broadcasting from the city hall, were his best bet at finding some way to save Kyle, and to save his family. He didn't want to wait down here only to find afterwards that he had to live in a world where they had all died, or even worse that he could have helped them.

"There is a map of all of Colorado in my office down here somewhere," Mephesto muttered, and Stan got the feeling that suddenly everyone was paying his stupid plan full attention, since though it was almost certainly a really bad idea it sounded like just about the only one they had. "You could maybe find your way roughly using that, but it wouldn't be easy."

"I'm going to try it. If there's even a tiny chance that they might be able to help us, or they know more about this thing, then it has to be worth a go." His mind was entirely with Kyle and his family, his mom in particular, hiding in Jimbo's bunker wondering if someone would help them. If they were already dead then it didn't matter if his plan failed, since he wouldn't have anything left to live for anyway.

They talked around it in circles for a while longer, pointing out the obvious flaws in the plan but then again admitting defeat when Stan challenged them for a better idea. He didn't really have a clear idea of what time it was either, but he wanted to move quickly; every second he wasted talking about it he felt he was failing Kyle. He was on borrowed time already, with the odds of them having enough food in the bunker to still be alive looking very slim indeed, so Stan wasn't going to question the hurried feeling.

Kevin went off with the torch to look for the map, heading off to the end of the lab Stan still hadn't been to where obviously Mephesto had some kind of office. The rest of them helped him pack a bag with food and some water, working with surprising urgency considering the previous year and a half had been just endless waiting. There were no objections or attempts to dissuade him from going, and it seemed as if either everyone could tell that any such efforts would be pointless, or they just wanted to send him out as a gamble on their own survival.

"So Stan wakes up and suddenly everything changes, and we all rush around doing whatever Stan thinks is a good idea." Cartman grumbled, loitering near them as they packed to ensure none of his preferred foods were given away. "I preferred it when you were unconscious."

"I bet you did." Stan countered bitterly, "I woke up petrified that you two had worked together to kidnap me and give me four asses or something."

"Ha! I'm sure Kahl would have loved that."

"Fuck you." Stan replied, though he had to admit to finding the joke a little funny, even in the tense circumstances. Cartman's humour never riled him like it did Kyle, and those particular jokes became totally ineffective the second they became actually true, and now it didn't bug him at all.

"You should take one of these as well," Mephesto said, holding up one of the canisters of oxygen-rich air that had been left by Stan's bed. "It might be a little low on air in there. If it's really bad you'll still need to turn around, but if it's just a little thin then you might be able to get by taking the odd breath from this whenever you feel light headed."

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Stanley?" Liane asked, probably feeling the need to donate a little motherly concern in the absence of Sharon.

"I have to do this. Besides, if I get there and have a quick look and it's not possible then I can turn around." Stan said, though he thought in reality it was likely that by the time he would know if it impossible it would be too late.

"I'm going too." Stan heard someone who he thought was Cartman say, though that clearly couldn't be the case. "I'm sick of this waiting, and all this shitty food. There's got to be some actual fucking human food in Denver."

"Yes but Eric, sweety-"

"No, mom. I need to get out of this hell hole." To say Stan was surprised would be an understatement, and even the justification of wanting to find better food seemed like a half-baked lie for some reason.

"You want to come with me, and risk your life doing this?" Stan asked, letting the disbelief flood into his voice.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Cartman replied irritably. "You're the one getting out of the pipe first though, and if you fry I'm just turning around and leaving you."

"Right, then." Stan said slowly, and he began adding extra food to the bag while behind him he could hear Liane sobbing and begging Eric to stay. "Are we going or what?"

X

_Sorry it's a tad late, and thanks for the continued support everyone! Very dialoguey chapter but it was needed._


	5. Chapter 5

Trying to sleep was uncomfortable. The space was barely big enough for an adult body, and even lying stretched out the curve of the metal put pressure on awkward places. It didn't help that it was freezing either, the relative warmth of the lab now a thing of the past. At this time of year it wouldn't be that unlikely for there to be snow still coating the ground outside. Stan could hear Cartman begin to snore, and regretted letting him come along; it was slow going, with regular stops for huffs on the oxygen tank they were dragging with them and constant complaints about his bruised knees. He wondered how far they'd even managed to get, since though they'd crawled all day he wouldn't be surprised if they were just a few miles outside of South Park. If Cartman wouldn't speed up he would have to send him back, there was nothing else to it. Stan shivered, pulling the white lab coat he'd been given tight around his shoulders. It was the only warm clothing they'd had access to, but it wasn't effective. At least he had his old clothes back on underneath, he thought, giving thanks for small mercies. He toyed with the idea of waking Cartman up and telling him they'd slept for hours already - there'd be no way of really telling - but he decided against it. They wouldn't last very long with no sleep at all, though with the wind whistling past the sides of the pipe and the biting cold Stan knew he'd be lucky if he managed to doze even briefly; how Cartman fell asleep so quickly was beyond him.

He could hear a faint clunking sound coming from further down the tunnel, but he couldn't tell if it was a quiet noise from just a few meters in front of them or something loud echoing its way down from miles away. Either way he was partly glad of it, since it gave him something tangible to be afraid of, and without that his mind would just obsess with worry about Kyle lying somewhere, scared and wondering why Stan wasn't coming to help him.

X

Having Kenny's warm body snug up against his when he woke was a blessing for Kyle. He felt inexplicably better, not just because the nights could be chilly underground, but more down to the fact that he felt somehow safer. It didn't make any sense to feel safer, but he supposed humans were wired to feel more secure when they're together, it was probably some biological fact. Still he slipped away and out of the bunk, not wanting his parents to see them both like that. Each day the mood seemed more dejected than before, and Kyle just watched as one by one the group woke up around him, no one smiling or joking. His mother didn't get out of bed at all anymore, and it was becoming painfully obvious that she would be the first of the group to succumb to the end they were all headed for. It wasn't a grizzly death, at least, but slowly fading away as she was wouldn't be painless either. He couldn't stand looking at her bony features at all lately. Butters didn't look far behind her either, not sick but so thin that Kyle couldn't help wondering if under his shirt you could see not only his ribs but the outline of his organs pressed against the skin, since there seemed to be no substance left on him. There was something particularly horrible about seeing someone like that suffer; someone so innocent and harmless that it seemed like the greatest injustice in the world. Kenny obviously thought the same thing, since after waking he went straight to Butters, keeping him occupied with inane conversation about something or other.

"This is it." Ike said, surprising Kyle by appearing next to him on the floor.

"What do you mean?"

"I had a look in the store room. Today is the last day we'll eat." Ike had tears running down his face, but he was silent rather than sobbing loudly. Kyle wrapped his arms around his brother, not worried for once about being awkward at displaying affection.

"Hey, it's ok. At least we're all together, right?" Kyle tried to console him, speaking quietly to avoid some clumsy interference by a concerned parent. "Lots of people don't get that luxury, we're the lucky ones." He thought of Stan with Sparky, his headphones blaring whatever indie-rock band he happened to be into that week, who were definitely 'the best songwriters of the 21st Century' until they were forgotten about again a few days later. He thought of how confused and scared he must have been, all alone in the woods or some backstreet, when suddenly it happened.

"You're right, I just - I don't feel ready yet!" Ike replied, and Kyle hated seeing him this way, flustered and scared; it wasn't in his character.

"Do you think anyone ever feels truly ready?"

"I don't know. Yes. No - well I guess not. How am I supposed to know?" Ike asked angrily.

"I was under the impression you were a boy-genius? Was I misinformed?" Kyle teased, nudging him with his elbow.

"Shut up." Ike replied, but he laughed a little, making Kyle feel incredibly proud of his big brother abilities.

Kenny was still with Butters, and Kyle wondered if maybe he was avoiding him after last night, but that didn't make much sense; it was a case of them both being in need of some comfort and human contact, facilitating each other for that purpose, so there was no reason for him to feel awkward about it.

"Everyone, can I get your attention?" Kyle looked up to see his dad standing on one of the bunks, and dreaded whatever awful speech he was about to make. "I just thought I should let you know, I'm going to leave the bunker today."

There was an audible gasp in the room at that, before Randy exclaimed, "What?!"

"Sheila is sick, she needs help. Or at least more food, we all do. I need to take the chance." Gerald said, making eye contact with Kyle then quickly looking away, visibly afraid of the horrified expression Kyle knew he was wearing, like the one he could see on Ike's.

"I don't think that's such a good idea Gerald, I mean, we don't know what's out there..."

"Randy." Gerald said quietly, "I don't have a choice." Kyle felt his heart squeeze at the thought that this was supposed to be a subtle reference to the fact his mom was dying, and quickly.

"You could at least wait one more day." Randy said, moving his arms as if trying to gesture to everyone else to intervene as well.

"If I'm honest Randy," Stephen Stotch started, someone else finally jumping into the pained conversation. "I can see where Gerald is coming from. If you were in his position wouldn't you do the same?"

"Not if going outside seems like a suicide mission..." Any worry about sensitive ears seemed to be gone now, with Randy talking openly about impending death. The blanket of silence and reassurance that all the parents down here had stuck to (even the childless Randy and Sharon) had been pointless anyway, and Kyle was glad to hear some frank conversation. He was still a little too shocked himself to even think about contributing.

"We still have some power, so the solar panels up there are intact at least, which means it might not be all that bad." This was a pretty flimsy argument from Gerald, and Kyle could see his dad knew it, but he said it confidently, as a good lawyer would.

"Besides Randy, you were the one telling us we couldn't just sit here and do nothing weren't you?" Mr Stotch added. Kyle could remember that conversation as well.

"I didn't mean this though! Look, as a scientist I'm just saying that it's my opinion that it's a bad idea. They would have mentioned it in the last broadcast if conditions outside had improved, so clearly they haven't!" Kyle couldn't help but disagree with Randy, since although he didn't like the idea of his dad facing whatever was out there one bit, there wasn't much to lose by trying it.

"You're a geologist Randy, no offense but I don't see why that's relevant."

"I'm not just focused on geology anymore actually, I was appointed to a government committee that deals with all sorts of -"

"Oh!" Gerald interrupted, "So you know something then? Everyone! Randy Marsh has analysed the situation, and has some useful information for us. Please tell us, Randy, we would love to know, what should we do?"

"I - I don't-" Randy started, looking down at his feet. "I don't know." Kyle winced at the harshness of what his dad had said, and he could see Randy looked crestfallen straight away. If he knew anything about Marsh men it was that they were both proud and sensitive. Luckily he also knew the exhaustion and malnourishment of both his dad and Randy meant this argument wouldn't come to blows (which is often a fear when Randy is involved), and even this animated discussion was enough to make them both look tired already.

"I agree with Randy." Everyone spun around to see the source of this quiet comment, and Sheila was sitting up in her bunk, staring at them. "I don't want you doing this, Gerald."

"Honey, please hear me out…" His dad said quietly, walking to her side and talking to her in hushed tones, stroking her hair while he spoke. He had become more and more sensitive and affectionate towards her as her situation had deteriorated, and it was still a little weird to watch.

"The show's over folks." Mr Stotch announced, gesturing at everyone to look away. "Let's let them have some privacy as best we can." Of everyone he'd been living with for these last months, Stephen Stotch was the one person who still felt like a stranger. He'd even warmed to Jimbo, but Butters' dad was still 'Mr Stotch' to him, and there was something about him Kyle didn't like. Well, obviously his treatment of Butters, though he had mellowed in that regard since they'd been down here. Then again maybe that was just because he had nowhere to ground him these days.

"Hey," Kyle felt an arm around his shoulder and knew straight away it was Kenny at his side. "You okay champ?"

"Really? 'Champ'?" Kyle joked, prodding Kenny lightly.

"Hey, I'm trying here!" Kenny grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him aside, back to their adjacent bunks. "Seriously though, you don't have to put on a brave face all the time. Jesus man, this is tough, you can let it out. It's only me…"

"I'm not putting on a brave face Kenny, I've just accepted things for what they are."

"You are," he said, bringing his hand up to Kyle's face and turning it to look straight into his eyes. "And I can understand why, for Ike and your mother. They aren't here now though, and it's not good to keep everything bottled up."

"I have it good though Kenny, I shouldn't be feeling sorry for myself or crying…" Kenny's eyes were a paler blue than Stan's, and they seemed to have less color in them now than he remembered, like a symptom of the fluid of life draining slowly out of him. "I got to spend extra time with my family, and we get to be there for each other. He didn't get that. You didn't get that." Kyle referred to Stan as 'he' or 'him' quite a lot when talking to Kenny, since he knew who Kyle meant and it spared him from actually saying his name.

"Ok, you win, but I just don't want you to spend what could be our last few days like a zombie. While we still have time you should be feeling something, otherwise you might as well already be dead." It was true, Kyle had been on auto pilot for so long now that it didn't feel like really being alive. He watched Kenny glance around briefly, like he was looking for something, before leaning in and pushing their lips together. Kyle expected to want to jump away, but like the night before he didn't, instead allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of Kenny's lips against his, warm and soft. Kenny wrapped his arms around Kyle's back as they kissed, pulling their bodies close together. The feeling of another person's body pressed up against his was electric, and as their thighs touched or his hand stroked Kyle's neck, each place ignited, reminding him briefly that it was still a functioning part of him. Kenny's touch was gentle and caring, but confident, a lot like he remembered Stan's and yet nothing like it at all. It wasn't much of a kiss, brief and with closed mouths, but then again it was meant to be more emotional than passionate, if that made sense. When they parted Kyle could feel himself welling up for some reason, which only made him angry. He'd been so good and staying shut off and controlled, and for some reason that little bit of contact seemed to unlock a box inside which he thought he'd lost the key to. For a while Kenny just held him while he shook quietly, and the sharp hiccup-like breaths brought on by the tears were enough to actually cause a pain in his chest, his body just not cut out for even a hint of stress anymore.

When Gerald revealed that a compromise had been reached and he would wait until tomorrow to go, Kyle couldn't help but be a little relieved. His fears of his dad suffering the same grim radiation induced death that Stan did - or some even more horrifying fate - were allowed to be postponed at least. He suspected his mother knew what she was doing, and that she probably thought she wouldn't survive the night. They would at least be together.

He resolved to spend the evening with her and Ike, and spared a thought for Sharon who wouldn't have the luxury of even one of her children at her side. He toyed with the idea of telling her about him and Stan, about how they had been before the Event, but decided against it. As much as he suspected she had guessed the feelings he'd held for Stan and would be happy to know they had been returned, he figured she would only see it as having magnified his pain at losing him. It all seemed a lifetime ago, and if it wasn't for the envelope under his mattress he wasn't sure he would still believe any of it had really happened. He thought of Plato's story about men who were chained facing a wall in a cave their whole life, whose entire view of reality came from images on the rock. The images were only shadows, which were being projected onto the wall by objects being passed in front of a fire behind them. He wondered if maybe that had been him, and everything he'd seen before had been some kind of lie, or alternate reality, and only now he was unchained. Or maybe now he was only seeing shadows, it was impossible to tell.

X

_Another chapter already? You spoil us, I hear you say! Hehe, I'm just so into this story at the moment that it's sort of writing itself…_

_As always thanks for reading!_


	6. Chapter 6

Kyle had no idea what time it was, but he felt like he'd been lying awake for hours. Kenny's arm slung over his waist and his regular, warm breathing against his neck weren't the comforts that they had been the previous night, and instead he was agitated, finding it impossible to get settled. His mother had been behaving weirdly all evening, looking on the verge of tears sometimes, before quickly returning to pretending everything was normal. She even told stories about growing up in New Jersey, a topic normally avoided like the plague in the Broflovski household. Her occasional coughs were disturbing and he found himself listening out for the next one, since he hoped she would ease into a final sleep rather than lie awake all night suffering.

He tried to take his mind off it any way he could, focusing on the feeling of Kenny's body pressed up against his. Once upon a time he would have loved to experience that, when he felt like he was destined to spend his life alone and unloved. Kenny had always been good looking, in a cheeky, youthful sort of way, and he would have jumped on the idea of lying like this with him, even though Stan was the one he dreamed of. Since that was apparently completely impossible, Kyle used to enjoy the little touches and subtle winks Kenny bestowed on him. He was like that with most people, but that didn't stop Kyle getting his hopes up. Now though the contact between them wasn't comforting and reassuring like the night before, instead making him feel claustrophobic, almost trapped. He was sweating, and each breath felt not quite strong enough or deep enough to give him the air he needed.

There was only one person who could ever have eased this kind of feeling simply by holding him close. He closed his eyes again and tried to imagine it was Stan's arm around him, his hair brushing against Kyle's shoulder instead of Kenny's, but he couldn't. In fact when he tried to picture Stan in his mind it was a more fraudulent version of him than it had ever been before, and as much as he strained his memory Kyle couldn't get it right. His eyes were purer than that. His lips were fuller. Kyle wanted so much to reach under the bed and pull out a photo, so he didn't have to spend another second looking at this imposter in his mind, but it was far too dark to see anything. Besides, the pictures never brought back the memory of Stan's smell, the way it felt when Stan's fingers touched his skin, the way he tasted. Those things were gone forever.

Kyle let out a stifled sob, when really he wanted to scream. They had been down here so long that even his memories of happiness were being ripped away from him. Whatever did this to them clearly wanted to take everything from him, and it had won.

"Hey, shh." Kenny whispered, stroking the side of Kyle's head gently. "You're okay, I'm still here. Try and get some sleep."

X

"This is such bullshit, how much further?"

"Cartman, how the fuck am I supposed to know?" Stan said for about the hundredth time, having lost all patience with this some a while ago.

"Denver is like a two hour drive away, so how is it taking this long? We've been walking for days..." Cartman was - as usual - a good ten meters behind Stan and moving at a snail's pace.

"Well that's because you go at like 70 down the freeway instead of crawling on your hands and knees..." Stan muttered, needing all the restraint he could muster to stop himself losing his rag completely.

"Wait- stop!" Cartman wheezed, and Stan halted, glaring at him even though it was far too dark to have any effect. "Time out...I need air."

"Cartman there's nothing left in that stupid thing, we're dragging an empty canister around!" Stan said, though he knew his protests weren't being heard over the sound of Cartman inhaling furiously. "Besides, maybe if you wasted less breath complaining you wouldn't need it..."

"Shut up, faggot. Alright I'm good, let's go." To be fair under more normal circumstances (though crawling through a gas pipe could never really be classed as 'normal circumstances') Stan would have had some sympathy for Cartman; their knees were raw and bleeding, and the aching pain of being crouched over for so long was intense. At the moment though there was no time for sympathy, and he knew if he gave any hint of allowing longer breaks or a slower pace then Cartman would take full advantage.

For the most part they moved in silence, the only sound being the noises of crawling or heavy breathing, or occasionally Cartman humming some irritating tune. With no way of keeping track of time down here (Liane still had the only functioning watch) Stan wondered how long they actually had been moving for; it felt like a full week, but considering the tediousness of it Stan guessed that meant it was actually more like two days. They had to be close now, and he wasn't sure how much more his body could take.

"Your plan better work, Stan." Cartman said, grunting in pain as he struggled to keep up. "Because there's no way I'll be able to make it all the way back like this."

"Sure you will, we brought enough food for you to turn around. You'll be fine." Stan wasn't so certain this was true though, since as their journey here had been mostly downhill the return leg would be even harder, but he didn't want to let Cartman's spirits fall any lower than they already were.

"Whatever you say." He clearly wasn't convinced, and Stan had to listen to him grumbling under his breath for the next half an hour about 'goddamn hippies' and how they had no idea what they were talking about. Luckily focusing on just keeping their pace up kept Stan occupied; he wasn't after any pleasantries or small talk from Cartman anyway.

"Hey, I think we're right by it." Stan announced, breaking the awkward atmosphere.

"Shit yeah, looks like I was right, it's nothing." Cartman replied, even though Stan was pretty sure he'd been the one who'd been more relaxed about the occasional thumping noise they'd been getting closer to for the last day.

"It's just a tree branch being blown against the pipe by the wind or something." Stan mused, and of all his guesses in the last few hours he was glad it was that one which seemed to be on the money. "C'mon, let's keep moving."

"Let's play a game." Cartman said as they set off again.

"Come again?"

"I said let's play a game, I'm bored out of my mind. Nothing faggy though."

"Okay, well choose something then." Cartman was doing a better job of keeping right behind Stan now, and if playing something stupid would keep that up then Stan was game.

"Um. How about-" Cartman started, before hesitating briefly. "Drunk or Kid. Well, it's normally a drinking game but it doesn't have to be."

"What are the rules?" Stan had played quite a few drinking games in his time, but that wasn't one of them.

"It's really simple, just tell a story of something stupid you did, and the other person guesses if you did it when you were fucking hammered, or a little kid. I'll start if you want."

"Fire away." Stan wasn't sure exactly why Cartman didn't class this as 'faggy', a game seemingly designed to tell stories about childhood. Probably because it normally involved vodka. "Though I'm pretty sure we know each other a little too well for this to work. You've mostly been there when I'm doing stupid shit. In fact you're normally to blame."

"Fuck you!" Cartman shouted, his voice echoing down the pipeline and off into the distance. Maybe at the other end someone was listening. "I touched Bebe's tits."

"That's your go?" Stan asked, though he was hardly surprised Cartman was using a game to brag in some way. Cartman and Bebe had never dated though, and as far as Stan could tell Bebe wasn't a fan. "Fuck, that could be either knowing you."

"That's sort of the point, dickhead." Cartman snorted.

"Fine, fine, I'll say drunk." Now they were playing Stan was actually enjoying himself, probably since the last couple of days had been stressful and boring to a degree he'd never previously thought possible.

"Kid. Wendy's tenth birthday party, we played seven minutes in heaven, remember? Bitch slapped me though."

"No wonder fatass!" Stan laughed, trying to rack his brains for a story Cartman hadn't heard before. "I once threw up on my mom's favorite rug, and blamed the dog." He felt a pang of sadness thinking about Sparky, and then felt guilty for caring at all about a dog at a time like this, though he couldn't help it.

"Dog sick doesn't even look like people sick, did they seriously buy that?"

"I guess so, I mean I never got in trouble." Stan replied, wincing when he landed on a particularly raw part of his knee he'd been trying to keep from putting weight on.

"I guess I can believe that, your parents are fucking stupid." Stan didn't rise to the bait, so Cartman continued, "I'm going to say kid."

"Nope." Stan replied, "The answer was both."

"Ey! That's cheating!" Cartman grumbled, lightly punching the back of Stan's leg. "Besides, what the fuck Stan, how old are we talking?"

"Eleven. It was a phase." Stan answered matter-of-factly, though it calling it that was a bit of an understatement probably. The game carried on intermittently from then, whenever either of them remembered a good enough story. Stan suspected Cartman was at least embellishing the truth with some of his later ones though, and some were so farfetched they were clearly totally invented.

"Hey wait." Stan said, feeling around in front of him. "I think we're at the end."

"Fucking finally! What's there?" Cartman asked, crawling forward and trying to lean around Stan as if he was trying to see for himself somehow.

"It's like a hatch maybe? I can't tell." He started to regret insisting that the wind-up torch stayed behind with Liane and Mephesto. There were two large spaces above his head, like side by side pipes heading upwards and out slightly in opposite directions, but they both stopped after just a meter or so. "I think maybe it's where they attach whatever pumps the gas in or something."

"So can we get out of them?" They had prepared for the eventuality of no exit at the other end, but the hammer and knife they'd brought wouldn't stand a chance really, so they knew they needed a way out here.

"I'll try and see, give me a sec." Stan reached up and pushed against the top of the first shoot, but with no luck. In front of them the pipe came to an abrupt end, so there weren't many options at this stage. He was shocked to find that when he pushed the top of the second shoot it did move slightly, meaning there was some kind of hatch they could open. "This one works."

"Shit. Alright, what now?" Cartman asked, sounding slightly out of breath and on edge.

"Well I'm going up." Stan replied, noticing the same slight shaky breathlessness in his own voice. "How long do you think I have, to get somewhere safe?"

"Like I said we only saw two people in the cameras, but I think it took about two or three minutes before it happened."

"Ok. Hopefully this pipe comes up inside the power plant or something, and if it's safe I'll knock to let you know. If I have to run somewhere to get inside then I'll try to shout to you or throw something at the pipe." Stan tried not to think about the fact that they didn't really know what sort of place would constitute 'safe', and whether it had to just be indoors or needed all windows to be shut or any other requirement. "If you don't hear anything for half an hour - or an hour - then go back."

Stan took the silence to be confirmation that everything was understood. "Hey Stan, just for the record, before you go – and if you survive don't ever tell anyone I said this -" Cartman started, speaking unusually quietly. "I hope you don't die, and I even hope you find the Jew."

"Oh. Thanks" Stan wondered if maybe that was the nicest thing Cartman had ever said to him. "Why did you come with me, really?" He asked, thinking that it seemed like an appropriate moment to try and find out the actual reason.

"I told you, I need real food." Carman repeated, sounding bored by the question. "Besides, I'm a man of action; I'd rather try something than sit around and do nothing. Remember to shut that thing behind you by the way, don't let anything back in here."

"Right, well I think I'm going now." Stan said, and he heard Cartman back away around the last corner the pipe had taken. "Bye, Cartman."

Stan could feel his arms shaking now, and he was on the verge of throwing up. The nerves had hit him hard the second Cartman backed away and left him alone at the end of this nightmarish tunnel. He reached up and tested the hatch again, and it still moved ever so slightly, so this really was about to happen. He held back another bout of nausea and started focusing his mind on something else, on Kyle lying in bed with him. His slender build fitted perfectly with Stan's body, like every part was custom made to do just that.

Stan reached up and pushed properly before he had another moment to second guess himself, using his legs to stand up slowly and force the hinge open. Quickly he scrambled out and tried to adjust to his surroundings - it was fairly dark out, probably around dusk time, and he was out in the open. Shit. Ignoring the pain in his legs from the sudden change of use he started to run, heading towards the building about twenty meters away which looked like the power plant.

He reached the door, but couldn't force it open. He was starting to panic, completely aware of each second that passed and what it meant. He hammered on the door, slamming at it with his fist and ramming his shoulder into it, but still unable to get inside. Realising he didn't have the strength to get through he turned and ran along the building, looking for any window or opening that might save him now. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. This had been such a stupid plan, so unlikely to ever succeed. He had arrogantly dreamed about saving people – saving Kyle – but all he had done was killed himself. The grey stone of the building was impenetrable, and any windows were far too high to get anywhere near.

Then, out of the corner of his eye he saw a manhole cover standing out from the concrete surroundings, and he lunged at it. He gripped at the sides and lifted, heaving until he could feel his fingernails actually being pulled away from his fingers. It was bolted down, and there was no way he could move it even an inch. Once he'd realised that, Stan collapsed, lying out on the hard ground and letting out an anguished sob. This was it, and his death would be for nothing. He uttered a prayer, not just to Jesus but to Yahweh as well, since if there was an after-life he only wanted it if Kyle could be there with him. If not then eternal nothingness sounded better, and that was probably where he was headed anyway. He waited for the pain to start, knowing that once this short torture was done his suffering should be over.

Still though, he felt nothing. He realised that now he had been out here for some time, at least for more than the 'two or three' minutes Cartman had cited as being fatal. Slowly he stood back up, and walked again to the building, looking for a way in. Now though he was moving slowly, breathing cautiously with each breath as if somehow that might prolong his survival. He looked up at the massive cooling towers, a vague silhouette against the sky, and at the sign spelling out 'Cherokee Station'. He was at the front entrance now, and still he felt fine. Slowly, Stan allowed himself to believe he might be alright after all.

A couple more minutes passed, and Stan was running around the building, no longer searching for anything but just shouting with joy, laughing hysterically and heading back to the pipe he'd crawled out of. Maybe it was over, or maybe it was just not as bad as they'd thought, but regardless he was alive, and it had never felt so good. He hammered his palms against the metal of the pipe, running along it to where he knew Cartman was sitting and drumming his fists to create as much noise as possible.

"Come on out, it sure is a fine day to be outside!" He yelled, lifting the hatch back open and grinning at Cartman as he emerged slowly. At first he looked horrified, staring at Stan and their surroundings as if he'd lost his mind, but Stan's grin – and more importantly simply his being alive – must have won him over, because slowly he started smiling too.

"It's ok out here?" He asked, and Stan watched him slowly start getting used to walking upright again.

"Damn right it is! You had me worried for nothing!" Stan laughed and ushered him forward, not wanting to waste any more time now until he knew his family and Kyle were safe.

"Ah – fuck." Cartman groaned, and Stan turned to see him slump to the ground.

"What is it?!" He asked, but quickly he realised as Eric started writhing on the ground, shouting out and clutching different parts of his body. "No!" He grabbed under Cartman's arm and hoisted him up, but now he wasn't even screaming anymore, and instead his face was just contorted in all sorts of agony Stan had never seen before. He tried to haul him towards the pipe to get him back inside, but Cartman was thrashing and broke away from his grip again. Stan looked at him in shock to see what looked like Cartman's skin just evaporating away, patches of red appearing and growing, joining together as the flesh was revealed underneath. He tried again to grab at him and get him to safety, and this time there was less resistance and Stan managed to lift him up. He got close to the entrance of the pipe but couldn't hold on any longer, letting go as his hands were seared by heat actually coming from the exposed flesh.

The body looked completely lifeless now, and there was a solitary yellow flame emerging in the center of the chest. Stan reached down one final time to try and rescue the mass slumped on the ground, but he knew there was nothing he could do. There was no part of the Eric Cartman he knew left.


	7. Chapter 7

When they woke up, Randy was gone.

It was a full twenty four hours now since they'd gotten up to see his bunk empty and a note written crudely on the back of a food packet, but to Kyle it all still seemed a little surreal. Sheila on the other hand had pulled through and survived the night somehow.

"Poor Sharon." Kenny said, startling not just Kyle from his thoughts but also Butters, who had been staring intently into the ether.

"Yeah," Butters said weakly. "It sure was brave of him though." Butters was lying in his bed, and Kyle and Kenny were sat on the adjacent bunks.

"It was selfish too." Kyle muttered. "Sharon looks pretty upset for someone who supposedly didn't love him anymore." The note had been a chilling read for everyone; Randy had basically declared that he had less to lose than Gerald, and should be the one to risk leaving the bunker. He'd argued that Gerald had children to look after, and a wife who loved him, and he had neither.

"Well just because you don't love someone doesn't mean you want them to die!" Butters exclaimed. It had been obvious for years that the Marsh's had marital problems, but nobody knew until now that Sharon had filed for divorce just a week before the Event. She'd given him a month to move out apparently, and had been hysterical since the disappearance that this made the whole situation her fault. Kyle had bitten his tongue when he'd felt like pointing out they were all going to die anyway, Randy would just get a better view when it happened.

"Kyle," Kenny said, walking around Butter's bunk to sit next to him. He leaned close and whispered, "You can't feel responsible for this. Randy chose to do this, you didn't make him and neither did your dad."

"I know that Kenny." He snapped, but actually he didn't. He gave Kenny an apologetic look to let him know he hadn't meant to be harsh. The feeling that Randy sacrificed himself for the sake of his family was pretty horrible; if there was any chance that Randy's 'mission' would succeed he would have been back within a few hours, and now it had been a full day there was no doubt about his fate. It felt like it was the Broflovski's turn to lose someone, and they were somehow intact while Stan's family suffered everything.

"Let's talk about something else." Kenny said, his eyes indicating that Kyle was not completely forgiven. Still, he was glad of the chance to at least try to think about a different topic for the first time in the last day.

"Actually, I've been thinking about something recently fellas..." It was inevitable that Butters would jump into the silence before it became awkward, his frail state clearly not enough to override his nervous social skills. "We never got a yearbook, so I thought maybe we could do those awards they do, just to remember everyone? Gee, that sounds stupid now I'm saying it out loud."

"Yeah, it does." Kyle snapped. "I'm not sure how thinking about everyone that died is going to help at the moment."

"Oh, I guess you're right. I meant it to be a happy thing, like-"

"I don't think it's stupid Butters." Kenny interrupted, and for some reason it made Kyle's face hot with anger hearing him jump to their friend's defence. "I think it's sweet, our year doesn't deserve to be forgotten. Think of it like closure, Kyle, a fun way to send everybody off."

It still sounded a lot like dragging up painful memories but Kyle just murmured vaguely in agreement. He wasn't in the mood to argue, and besides Butters was bed-ridden, so he should probably try to be a little accommodating.

Kenny went off to find something to write on and a functioning pen, still annoyingly upbeat and looking lighter on his feet than the rest of them. He had been so thin to begin with that his strength seemed bizarre, but then again he was tough, and his body was used to surviving on very little. Kyle made no effort to keep up small talk while he was gone, figuring that Butters needed to save his energy and that both would actually prefer to be left to their thoughts. He was quite surprised when this wish was actually granted and there were no awkward comments coming from the bed either.

"No pen or pencil, I can't find the one Randy must have used." Kenny said as he returned to their side. "I've got this though," He held up a penknife, "Let's carve it into the wall. It's more permanent anyway."

"Most likely to marry for money?" Kenny asked, looking around as if this was a totally logical first question.

"That's awful mean Kenny! And hard!" Butters said, laughing already. Kyle felt depressed at how faint his voice was though, and how the laughs were punctuated by heavy breathing.

"It's easy." Kyle suddenly remembered exactly who deserved this one, "Bebe. Remember when she dated Clyde to get shoes?"

"Oh yeah, that's it!" Kenny flashed him the smile that had made him something of a catch in high school, and although he hadn't seen it in a while it was still toothpaste-commercial perfect. He carved the name into the wall of the bunker, ignoring the slight screeching noise made by metal scraping against metal. "Next?"

"Most likely to be living with their parents their whole life?" Kyle asked, getting over the weirdness of this whole idea and just trying to help lift the mood. As soon as he said it he saw Butters smile at him, and he suddenly wondered who exactly this exercise was aiming to cheer up.

"Ooh, maybe Clyde?" Butters suggested, though Kyle had been thinking more along the lines of the blond boy himself.

"No it's gotta be Cartman." Kenny said, already scratching in the name. "Such a mamma's boy." Kyle had a feeling it wouldn't be Cartman's only award of the day, and he was proved right when he picked up 'most likely to try to take over the world' a turn later.

For a while they were acting as if it genuinely was the end of their senior year (though that would have been a few months ago anyway), and they made a concerted effort to give everyone something. They even gave out awards to kids who had left the class after elementary school, like Token and Red who both went to a different high school, and of course Pip. Kyle's particular highlights included Butters begrudgingly accepting the 'most likely to get ID'd when they're thirty' award, and Kenny getting angry when they tried to give him a prize for being 'the most likely to end up on Jerry Springer'.

It became a little harder as it progressed, and they started giving more serious titles, from the best sportsperson through to the wittiest class member. Kyle resisted putting forward Stan for _every _award (even though most of them he clearly deserved), though he did without hesitation for 'most caring' and 'best smile', because hey, these awards would lose all credibility if Stan didn't bag those two. Kenny gave him some weird look when they debated the latter award, and Kyle wasn't sure why; it wasn't that Kenny didn't have a perfect photo-shoot worthy smile, it was just that it didn't match up to Stan's lopsided grin. They all got somewhat emotional as it went on, and Kenny looked close to tears when they insisted he took the title of 'happiest person', even more so than he had been to win 'class clown'. A pretty large space behind Butters' bunk was taken up with this wall of badly scrawled names, and it was strangely satisfying to see it being completed, like they had finally finished some long postponed chore that was hanging over them and ruining a weekend. He was content to refuse 'most intelligent' in favor of giving it to Wendy, since 'most sarcastic', 'most annoying but loved' and 'rear of the year' all already bore the name 'Broflovski' underneath.

By the time it was all finished Butters was fast asleep, and he looked completely worn out. Kyle was convinced that even in his sleep he looked a lot happier, though it would only be a temporary relief before he had to return to the real world. The rosy tint that he was so used to seeing in Butters' cheeks was completely gone and his lips looked grey and thin, so much so that Kyle almost wanted to reach out and touch him just to make sure he wasn't stone cold. He and Kenny stayed by his bunk in silence for a while, regrouping their thoughts after an unusually eventful couple of hours. Since most days were completely indistinguishable from each other it felt like it had been a particularly productive morning.

As they sat there Kyle's eyes were caught by something across the room, something particularly shocking. He considered not saying anything until Kenny noticed as well, getting up and running across to the scene. Karen was kneeling by her bed, pulling out the foam stuffing in clumps…and eating it. Something about just looking at that made Kyle want to throw up, it was such a depressing sight. He watched as Kenny had his arms around his sister and was whispering to her, rocking her back and forth. Lord knows what chemicals were in that stuffing, and what kind of reaction your body might have, but he supposed it was more about the sensation of chewing, swallowing and feeling full than actual sustenance. There would be essentially nothing of nutritional value in all of that anyway, even if she emptied every single bed. More useful would be the two older bunks Jimbo and Sharon used, since they were bound in leather and there might be the odd calorie or scrap of protein available. Kyle tried to imagine what Kenny was saying to his little sister to explain things to her. You don't know what chemicals that's made of? It could make you sick? We need to let ourselves starve, it will be easier that way? He wouldn't use that last one, of course, but it's the closest there was to an actual explanation.

"Boys, the broadcast should start soon, are you coming?" Gerald asked as he approached Butters' bed. His dad looked like he had been crying, and that was something Kyle would never get used to seeing, even though it had happened a few times down here.

"He's asleep, we should leave him. I'll come though, I guess." He had forgotten completely that it was broadcast day today, he never counted down the days to it and for some reason the others hadn't been discussing it either. He wasn't sure he could stomach watching the routine of people's hopes being smashed yet again, but any chance of staying put was ruined by his dad lurking next to them, still waiting for him to get up.

"Kyle, I know how you feel about these, and you're right, but try to be understanding? People react to difficult circumstances in very different ways..." Gerald was giving him that stern-but-understanding look that only a seasoned parent could master.

"Yeah, sure." Kyle replied, but he was already moving away from his dad, scanning the group gathered around the TV for Kenny. He found him at the back on his own, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Hey." Was all their newly official 'happiest person' could manage as a glum greeting.

"Did you sort it out, with Karen?"

"Not really. She wouldn't listen to me, but when your smart ass brother came along and said the exact same thing it seemed to work." His frustration was endearing, and a little funny.

"It's only natural, she doesn't want to be told what to do by her older brother." They were all still staring at a black screen, waiting for something to happen.

"Uh huh. Those two get on a little too well for my liking anyway." Kenny was serious, but Kyle just burst out laughing.

"Dude, she's sixteen, he's twelve!" Kyle said, punching the blond boy's shoulder lightly. "I don't think you have to worry about that."

"He's very mature for his age." Was all Kenny replied, though it was hard to argue with that point.

A quiet fuzz was enough to render their hushed conversation silent instantly, along with any others that may have been happening in the room. All eyes were on the old TV set, for what would certainly be the final time. The box was almost as deep as it was wide (having been made about a decade before the arrival of the flatscreen) but this had worked in their favor, as it didn't require a great deal of power to run. Kenny's hand held his, but it wasn't a tight or nervous grip, instead it was soft and reassuring, a reminder that he wasn't alone, at least not completely. The fact that they had shaken off the naive expectation of the first few months - at least most of them had - only made it a little easier to watch these stupid things. If he had his way the TV would stay off, and they would all be spared the whole ritual. He gripped back, and noticed that they weren't alone in wanting someone to hang onto now, with his father back at his mother's side, Stephen holding Linda, Karen's arm slung around Ike's shoulders and even Jimbo and Ned standing close enough together for their arms to be touching, as if by accident. Only Sharon was standing alone, and it was heartbreaking. He moved a little closer to her, pulling Kenny with him and hoping that just his being at her side would help somehow, though he didn't see how it could.

_"I don't know how many days it has been since the event, but, uh- this is the survival broadcast for April." _

The picture suddenly appeared, but Kyle had slipped into some hunger induced delusion. He hadn't felt that bad today, a little lightheaded maybe, but that was normal, and now he thought, he actually thought-

_"I'm not, I mean I don't really know what to say..."_

He looked to his side to see Sharon in tears, and Jimbo grabbing her before she collapsed next to him. This was real...on the screen in front of him he was looking at the unmistakable image of Stan, alive.

_"I don't think it's safe to go outside. Don't go outside."_

Everything else was suddenly gone, and all he could see was the grainy image on the TV screen, like some perfect hallucination, only it wasn't just his mind playing tricks on him. He couldn't even begin to process any emotions, instead just focusing on what Stan might say next, and taking in every aspect of his appearance now.

_"Fuck, I don't even know if this thing is recording-"_

It is, Stan. Kyle wished so badly that he could somehow let him know, and let him know he was watching.

_"Look, I don't know anything useful to tell you, I'm sorry."_ Stan dropped the piece of paper he had been reading from, and took a step closer to the camera. _"But Kyle, Mom, Dad...if you're alive somehow, if you're watching, I'm going to try to figure this out, okay? Whatever it is, it kills people but it doesn't kill me."_

That had to be Kyle's favorite sentence of all time. Stan seemed a little weak, but he looked so alive, and that was all that mattered. He was safe and he could survive, and knowing that would be enough to put Kyle's mind at ease.

_"If you're out there - in the bunker, or anywhere -"_ Stan's voice was cracking, and he was pulling that face he always did where he was trying his hardest to look strong and composed, because he felt he had to for someone else's sake, usually Kyle's. _"Stay put, I'm going to figure this out and come get you. I won't give up, I promise."_

The picture was too poor to tell if Stan was actually crying or not, but Kyle was, in torrents down his face. It didn't seem to matter that Stan wouldn't be able to figure it out in time, he couldn't possibly...just knowing that for now he was still standing on the same planet, breathing the same air, was enough. A part of him that had been stolen was now returned.

_"And if the snow buries my, my neighborhood..." _Stan started singing, so quiet it could barely be heard over the static noise coming from the TV set.

"_And if my parents are crying…" _Kyle recognized the song instantly, it was by Arcade Fire, and they had both loved it when they first heard it a few years ago. They went to a gig in Denver together, and Kyle had been too intimidated by the crowds to get close, but when this song started Stan had just put him on his shoulders and forced his way right to the front.

"_Then I'll dig a tunnel, from my window to yours. Yeah, a tunnel, from my window to yours." _Kyle whispered the last line along with him, desperately trying to clear his eyes of tears as they blurred his view of the screen. He had always imagined the song to be about them, a somber love story in a snow covered town, but it was so surreal to see Stan sing it to him at a moment like that. Stan offered no explanation for it, but he didn't need to; Kyle knew.

"_There's a low power warning, I have to go…" _Kyle dreaded the moment when they would be returned to torturous isolation, and he could already feel the rest of the room reappearing again, the noise of people around him no longer blocked out by his mind. _"This is the last survival broadcast, there won't be any more from now on." _

With that the image suddenly vanished, stealing any final sentence and leaving the room to the frantic, excited chatter that had taken over.

Out of the corner of his eye Kyle could see Kenny turn around to look for him, but he was already well away from the group. He dug the penknife into the bed, ripping loudly through the leather and hacking it into strips he could boil. The game had changed. He had survived this long after all, and up until now he hadn't even been trying.

X

_Sorry for the wait people, finally got another chapter up. I have been trying to keep to a routine of a new chapter every 4-5 days, so I'll strive to get back to that. I hope the last couple of chapters haven't been too dark or off-the-wall for you guys, __and thanks as always to readers and especially reviewers!_


	8. Chapter 8

Nothing on TV ever conveyed just how heavy a human body is. People always seem to be able to pick them up and drag them around without much bother, but really they're damn heavy. Stan was regretting his decision to try to move this one already, and if any corpse could be light it should've been this man, since he was essentially a skeleton draped in skin. The poor guy was starved like nothing Stan had ever seen, though that wasn't what had killed him. The giveaway for that was the massive gunshot wound to the head, and the revolver lying next to him. His face was youthful looking despite being pale and gaunt, and though his lips were fixed in place and curled upwards slightly he still managed to look somehow angry and scared. His messy and blond hair reminded Stan of Kenny's, but had a hint of strawberry,

It hadn't seemed right to just leave him upright in a chair in the middle of the room, hence this titanic struggle. He headed for two makeshift beds up against a wall - which were clearly built out of seat cushions torn from office chairs - and laid the body down there. He covered it with a blanket, though not before retching again; his famously sensitive stomach never stood a chance faced with a decomposing body.

He left John (a security pass in the man's front pocket had revealed the name) and started on the next important task: rooting through the office looking for anything useful, anything that would give a clue as to what was going on. The room looked pretty much as he'd expected a council building to, with a few rows of computers and some separate offices attached to the main area. The walls were a neutral, boring white and a navy blue carpet covered the floor, making it an incredibly understated setting for the gruesome scene Stan had encountered when he opened the door. On a normal day it probably looked like any other work place, but now it was gloomy and sinister with only the weak emergency lighting, seeming claustrophobic despite being a big open space. The contrast of flecks of crimson against the pure white of the walls was clearly visible even with the dim lighting, and it would be another image indelibly burned into Stan's memory to keep him awake at night. In fact he was dreading the first time he would have to try to sleep, since whenever he shut his eyes for more than the most fleeting second he was met with Cartman's face staring back at him, his eyelids now a neon billboard that refused to let him forget.

Stan let out a groan and slammed shut the last drawer in the row of desks he was working through. He had been expecting, or at least hoping, to find more of a sort of 'professional' set up here, rather than just one guy. One dead guy, make that.

He searched all the desks around where he'd found John, but there was only boring paperwork about road signs or community outreach programs. He'd thought this place would be full of people, who could explain everything to him or maybe even give him an antidote or a cure or something, but instead it was just one fucking guy, who'd blown his own brains out days ago. He moved to the first of the executive-looking offices, the one where the recording equipment was set up and where he'd tried to send out a broadcast earlier. A calendar pinned up on the wall had told him that today at 12 the broadcast should be sent, but he didn't know how to work the equipment and had no clue what to say, so the whole thing had been a waste of time. He hadn't even bothered to look at the dates and work out how many days it had been since the Event, the one piece of information he could have actually given out, for all the good it would have done. Aside from the chair and the camera mounted on a tripod there was nothing of interest here either. He picked up the script he'd used earlier, which was from some previous broadcast, but it only annoyed him again.

_"It is 472 days since the Event._

_The season is currently: the Dark Season._

_This is the Survival Broadcast for March:_

_We have had no further contact from Washington since connection was lost, there are no new developments to report._

_Please remain indoors."_

What was the fucking point of that? He kicked one of the legs of the tripod, sending the camera hurtling to the ground with a crash. This was his only lead, his only idea, and there was nothing here that could help.

He tried the next office once he'd calmed down a little, but it was just more council related paperwork. When he opened the door to the final room however, he wasn't met with any office memos or meeting notes. Instead, there was a second body, a man lying curled up on the floor as if he simply lay down to go to sleep and never woke up. Stan walked forward cautiously and took a closer look, and this time there were no gunshot wounds or signs of violence; maybe this man did starve to death. This body explained the second bed out in the main room, which he had stupidly not given a second thought until now. He wondered if maybe this man had died, and 'John' had decided he didn't want to carry on alone. He couldn't blame him if that was the case, since being alone in this world was a miserable existence, as Stan was quickly learning himself. He slowly stepped over the body, taking care to take in as little of the man's appearance as he could. He didn't want to know his hair color, his eye color or especially his name; knowing the man out there was called John and being able to remember what he looked like only made it harder to push him to the back of his mind.

As with the other offices the room had a large desk made of a dark wood; it was possibly mahogany, but Stan didn't really know how to tell. Lying on the desk was a bundle of papers, covered in scrawls of blue ink, and Stan knew instantly that these weren't any old documents; this was what he was looking for. He picked them up and started to read, going slowly as the writing was uneven and loopy.

_Day 1. This journal is to record my thoughts while we're down here, since I think I will probably look back on this as the most interesting thing I have ever done. It is impossible to truly remember something without writing down your feelings at the time._

_John and I were the only volunteers (in a building of two hundred people, believe it or not) to stay here and run the emergency broadcasts. I don't believe every single other person had a wife and kids they had to be with. Since we were only given 'a couple of hours' notice by the White House the set up down here is very basic. The TV and radio stations have warned everyone and told them to wait for our announcements, and we used the time to set up the broadcasting equipment (cable and satellite) and stock up on supplies. There are only two of us and they gave us dozens of boxes of food, so there's nothing to worry about there – it must be enough for months and months. I will write again once we hear about the extent of the damage from Washington._

Stan flipped the page, doing his best to keep focused on just scanning for useful information rather than getting involved with the story on the pages. There are – or there were – seven billion people on earth, and he can't feel sorry for all of them, not when he has his own loved ones to worry about.

_Day 4. We managed to get hold of someone in Washington two days ago, but it was very brief, and we were only told to relay the message that it's absolutely not safe to go outside. Apparently exposure to whatever is out there leads to an agonizing death, and the best course of action is to wait. The power is still on, and there were no explosions or anything of that nature, so John thinks it's a terrorist chemical attack of some kind. I'm not so sure._

He turned the page quickly again, letting it fall from the desk and flutter onto the ground slowly. Then he changed his mind, stooping to pick it up and tuck it neatly into the back of the wad. He could at least do this person the favor of keeping this diary in one piece for the next person to find.

_Day 9. I intended to write more frequently than this but there is simply nothing to say. Nothing is happening, we are told nothing and it's becoming frustrating. _

The next two entries he almost skipped since he could tell from a cursory glance that they were more of the same as time passed, and the feeling of hope he had of some major discovery was ebbing away quickly. Stan ran a hand through his hair. It had been kept short thanks to Liane, who had really taken care of him, but it felt uneven and slightly wild. It was like waking up with someone else's haircut, which in a weird way he'd done.

_Day 47. The power has gone out, or at least the main source has, and so we only have the energy from the backup generator. It shouldn't be a problem if we only use the emergency lights, but the broadcasts require a lot of power so from now on they will only be once a month._

Then 100 days had passed and still nothing useful, the diary was just getting angrier and more scared, flipping between the two emotions in a way that Stan was very familiar with. The gaps in time between each entry were growing longer and longer, and he could feel the desperation building with every passing word.

_Day 272. We are not alone. This news fills me with such joy that it is impossible to express in just a few short words. We heard a message over the radio, someone just calling out to see if anyone was there. John uses it once a week even though I tell him it wastes energy, but I suppose this proves him right. Unfortunately we were unable to respond, or at least the person at the other end did not seem to hear our reply. He kept saying he was at some research institute up in Fort Collins, which must mean some survivors have set up a center to figure out whatever is going on. _

_We are confident people will have seen the broadcast and will know we are here, so it's just a matter of waiting._

Stan refused to get his hopes up until he had read on. After all, he knew how this story ended.

_Day 300. We have still heard nothing more from the other survivors, and we are becoming more conscious of our food supplies. It's nothing to worry about currently, but we need to make sure we make it last until our rescue._

_Day 371. John has become prone to fits of rage. I think the emotional exhaustion of getting our hopes up and having them crushed by time has been too much for him. There is a revolver down here, left by someone in security I think, and I'm keeping it on me at all times now as I worry for his sanity._

_Day 412. Supplies are becoming dangerously low now, and the prospect of dying down here is very real. I think John wants to risk going outside, but I don't, out of cowardice mainly._

_Day 479: I don't think I will continue to write in this journal from now. I started it so I would be able to look back at this experience, so writing about our final days would seem like too cruel an irony. I have come to terms with what is happening here and I will make my peace with God._

Stan sank down onto the ground and let himself stay there for a minute or two. He felt too sad to cry, if that was possible. He had walked in through the door into this horrifying story that he had no right to know about, and he felt like he had intruded on their privacy somehow. He hoped that if Kyle had made a journal of some kind that nobody else would ever get to read it.

When he walked back out of the room and towards the stairs he didn't look towards the body in the corner. Whether it was a suicide...or not, he couldn't bear to see the damage done by the bullet now he knew their story. He climbed quickly, clearing three in steps in every stride, and opened the door back into the ground floor.

It had been a grand building once, in a curved, crescent shape and with Greek style columns, all made of a light grey stone. Now though it was only half standing, with most of the upper stories ravaged by fire and charred furniture all around. He looked up through the gaping absence where the roof once was, and though it was still the daytime he couldn't tell how late; the sky was blotted with dark swirling clouds that rolled into each other and undulated in the sky. The sun was almost totally invisible behind them, and he understood now why down below they must have looked at the CCTV cameras and called it the 'dark season'.

He was exhausted and his mind was drifting, almost half asleep even though he was standing up. It was a montage of horrifying images, of John and his friend but mainly of Cartman, and the way his eyes had seemed to stare at him even once the rest of his body was almost all burnt away. He fought it back with the best memories he could think of, like the way his mother had taught him to fend off nightmares with happy thoughts as a child. There was only one happy thought that mattered to him though, and so sleep would have to wait a little longer. He planned out his next moves, to find a car and to head north to Fort Collins, and allowed Kyle's memory to battle Cartman's away in his mind, fighting in his subconscious just like they had the whole way through childhood. He tried to imagine them calling each other 'Jew' and 'Fatass', and Kyle chastising Cartman for some morally questionable act he was planning. He'd always been so annoyed by it back then, since he'd learned to ignore Cartman but Kyle never could, but now he was so glad they'd fought like that because it meant they had both cared about it all, while he'd just stayed out of it.

He turned around quickly before leaving and headed back down the stairs one more time. Slowly he picked up the revolver from the middle of the floor and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. He had a feeling it might come in handy.


	9. Chapter 9

Finding a car was easy, the difficult part was driving it. The roads were littered with abandoned vehicles, often with the keys still in the ignition and sometimes even the remains of the driver still inside. While this gave Stan a free choice of car (he went for a relatively new-looking blue Ford Fusion), it also meant he had to navigate his way past hundreds of obstacles blocking the road. Progress was slow and Stan was tired and impatient, almost wrecking the car a couple of times in the first hour of driving. Denver to Fort Collins should only take an hour and a half or so, but it would be at least twice that at the speed he was forced to go.

That was particularly worrying because with every passing minute it was getting even darker around him. The afternoon felt like one long twilight period with the sky still consumed by the heaviest clouds Stan had ever seen, like black thunderclouds but seemingly thicker closer to the earth. Back in Denver the ground had been dusted in little grey flakes of ash, and Stan wondered if that was what was descending on him from above. Occasionally Stan thought he could see fires in the distance as well, just a small orange glow like a candle flickering on the horizon. He was momentarily distracted and nearly rammed into an overturned truck on the road, having to swerve violently to the right to avoid it, leaving just two wheels touching the road and his heart beating franticly for a couple of seconds. He was careful not to jerk the wheel in panic though, and the car righted itself, letting him weave on towards Interstate 25.

It was getting close to complete darkness now and Stan still hadn't reached Fort Collins, so when he saw a Target just off the highway he figured the smartest move was to pull over. He hadn't eaten in over a day, and driving with just headlamps for visibility on roads blocked with this many hazards wouldn't end well. As he took the exit off the highway and steered into the parking lot he heard a crunch, and the car jolted ever so slightly. Stan pulled up, letting curiosity get the better of him, and lying on the ground a few feet behind the car was a skeleton, decomposed so literally only the bones were left. His front-left wheel had run straight over the top of the skull, obliterating everything above the lower jaw into tiny fragments that scattered over the tarmac like smashed pieces of opaque, white glass. Stan staggered away backwards, wishing he'd had the restraint not to look. He leaned against his car and braced himself to throw up, but nothing happened. Normally he would be emptying his stomach at the drop of a hat - or at least going through the motions if his stomach was already empty – but this time there was no incident. He was tougher now, Stan supposed; after all it had only been the third worst thing he'd seen in the last 48 hours. In a strange way he wished he was hunched over feeling nauseous though, since he didn't want to let go of the innocent part of him it came from.

The Target was still standing, but only just. Half of the building had collapsed on itself completely, damaged fatally by fire, and of the sign at the front only a solitary, red letter 'R' had survived. He headed inside the most structurally safe-looking part of the store, and set about finding some light. Batteries were easy, stacked on a shelf near the registers, but he had to spend ten minutes rooting around in the semi-darkness before he eventually found a torch. He only really saw how ransacked it all was when the yellow beam illuminated the bare shelves, and the discarded products littering the aisles. It looked like the place had been looted, which was quite possible now he thought about it. This side of the building had little sign of major damage at least, beyond the odd bit of debris and the thin layer of ash that coated almost everything.

Stan managed to find a tin of beans and a jar of pickled onions, a horrible but at least edible meal amongst the empty shelves and mould, and he pretty much inhaled it instantly without the formality of chewing. Once he'd finished he regretted not dragging it out though, since now all that was left to do was try to sleep.

In his whole life he'd never been one to be afraid of the dark, or afraid to sleep alone, but tonight as he got ready to go to bed he was terrified. He looked for blankets or cushions but there were none to be found, so they must have been in the collapsed side of the store. Instead he grabbed as many winter coats as he could find and dragged them to one of the registers, draping some over the sides of the counter and creating a bed in the footwell underneath the desk with the remainder. It just looked like the sort of fort the four of them would build at sleep overs when they were much younger, but somehow it seemed comforting. Before crawling in he placed the torch on the countertop above the fort, still switched on and shining out into the store to keep watch, though for what he wasn't sure – everything he had to be afraid of was in his own head.

Once he was under the counter Stan curled up and waited for sleep to come. Tomorrow he would reach Fort Collins, where there would be survivors, and maybe even a cure. He kept repeating that idea, trying one of Mr Mackey's old 'positive thinking' exercises but with no effect. Instead he issued yet another apology to Cartman in his thoughts, and clutched close to his chest a hat that he'd picked up from the aisle next to the coats. A lucky charm: a green ushanka.

X

_"This is so fucking stupid. There's no way anyone could do that!" Kyle gestured wildly at the TV before turning to Stan looking for agreement._

_"Dude it's Die Hard, it's not exactly meant to be realistic." Stan replied, his eyes still glued to the action sequence unfolding on the screen. "Besides, how do you know it's impossible?"_

_"How do I know it's impossible to destroy a helicopter by flinging a car into it? Gee Stan, I'm not sure..." Neither of them were massive action film nuts but there was literally nothing else watchable on, unless you count an old Friends episode they'd seen before or a documentary on a 70's band neither of them had heard of. They were sprawled out under blankets in Stan's living room, waiting for Kenny and Cartman to show up so they could figure out what to do with themselves today._

_"Hey, if you drove fast enough and got enough air why couldn't it work?"_

_"He didn't even use a ramp, it was just a toll barrier thing. The car would've just crashed into it and wrecked!" Kyle failed to notice that Stan was struggling to keep a straight face as he spoke, and he took the bait greedily._

_"There's nothing in physics that says that's not doable. If John McClane had time to set up a proper ramp that met your exacting standards then I'm sure he would have, but you have to make do with what's in front of you..."_

_Kyle muted the film to make sure he got Stan's full attention. "You can't be serious Stan!" He said incredulously._

_"Oh, I'm deadly serious Kyle." Stan replied, but his smile betrayed him this time._

_"You're such a dick." Kyle grumbled, turning the volume back up before folding his arms petulantly._

_"Aw c'mon, I'm sorry Kyle." Stan said, still laughing. "I know you forgive me."_

_Kyle said nothing, because as easy as he was to wind up, Stan was just as easy to guilt trip._

_There was a slight pause, then Stan flung the woolly blanket they were under onto the floor and lunged at Kyle, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head on the arm of the couch. He managed to hold them in place with just one hand and proceeded to slide the other under Kyle's shirt, moving his fingers rapidly over the bare skin._

_"St- Stop! Please...I can't take it!" Kyle forced out between breaths, his body reacting uncontrollably to Stan's touch, squirming around in a futile attempt to escape the tickling feeling._

_"Am I forgiven?" Stan asked, stopping the torture but keeping Kyle pinned down._

_"Yes, you're forgiven." Kyle said, still panting for breath. A large part of him had wanted to keep up the resistance though, just so he could enjoy the close proximity of their bodies for a little longer. It would have seemed weird though, and he was already worried that he wouldn't be able to keep all of himself...under control, if this went on any longer._

_"That's good." Stan said softly, though he wasn't moving to get off his best friend. His blue eyes were locked onto Kyle's jade ones, and though Kyle's were more unusual there was something so strikingly clear and deep about Stan's that they were every bit as captivating. "I live for your acceptance, after all."_

_"Shut up." Kyle murmured, smiling. "Now get off me before Kenny and the fatass show up, we don't need any more comments from them." Cartman's accusations about the nature of their friendship had become more frequent recently. It was totally unfounded, sadly, but they had been a little more 'hands on' of late, so to speak._

_"So what?" Stan asked, his legs still trapping Kyle underneath him. Kyle watched as Stan leaned in slowly towards him, before turning his head to the side at the last second and whispering in his ear, "I don't give a shit about what any of them think. Especially not Cartman."_

_For a few lengthy moments Kyle couldn't really muster up a reply to that. Why should he care what anyone thought? Anyone but Stan, obviously. He was feeling nervous now, and a little hot, not helped by the trick Stan had just played on him by letting their lips get so close to touching. "Still." He said, pulling his arms free suddenly and taking Stan off guard, pushing him with both hands to send him tumbling off the couch. "I don't see the point in just handing him something to rip on us for."_

_"Whatever suits you." Stan said nonchalantly, getting up and pretending to dust himself off. There was a silence as they both looked at each other, processing what had just happened._

_"Kyle!" Stan then strangely said, taking a step closer to him. "Kyle!" He repeated, almost shouting now._

X

"Kyle!" There was a hand waving right in front of his face, and when it was removed he saw Kenny, wearing a bemused expression. "Dude are you alright? You were so out of it."

"Oh, uh yeah I'm fine, just daydreaming." He replied, inwardly cursing Kenny for intruding. He hadn't had such a vivid memory of Stan in a while, one where he seemed like his real self, and it was blissful while it lasted. That was the day he had decided he wouldn't just wait and hope for Stan to make a move, and he'd build up the courage to make one himself. He'd seen something in those blue eyes that had made him think maybe Stan was just as desperate and worried as he was.

"Some fucking daydream." Kenny said, sitting down next to him on his bunk. "Or should I say, some daydream about fucking?"

"No, you shouldn't say." The pain in Kyle's stomach then returned, and it was brutal, forcing him to bend down and put his head between his legs in an effort to ease the throbbing agony. He wasn't sure why, but it sort of worked.

"I know man, I know." Kenny said, noticing his discomfort and putting a hand on his shoulder. Kyle was no longer leaving his bunk unless it was absolutely necessary, as part of his energy saving measures. If the calories he burnt walking across the room to talk to Jimbo were what killed him before Stan arrived he would never forgive himself. Well, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself anyway if he was dead, but the point still stands.

"What's up anyway?" Kyle asked, hoping Kenny's visit would be brief and he could go back into isolation.

"We have a bit of a problem." Kenny said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "It's Ike."

"What about him?" Kyle asked. He could see Ike sitting down talking to Karen across the room, so it couldn't be anything major. He looked more healthy than most of them to be honest.

"He wants to go outside. Butters and I have tried to talk him out of it but he isn't exactly receptive to our opinion."

"Could you bring him over? I'll have a word with him." Kyle wasn't letting this happen under any circumstances.

"You're not getting up?" Kenny asked, raising an eyebrow. "You really are taking this energy-saving thing seriously aren't you?"

"Dude, I have to. Now go grab Ike, we can't let him go through with this."

Once Kenny walked off Kyle lay back down, but he saw his dad give him an exasperated look. His behaviour seemed to be annoying everyone suddenly, and he didn't know why. They were all disappointed about the broadcast perhaps, since they'd been hoping yet again for good news but instead it had been a confused and scared looking Stan. Something was wrong in Denver if the normal people were unable to make the broadcast and Stan was doing it instead. To Kyle that was the best news ever though, and if they disagreed then fuck them.

"Ike, what is all this about?" Kyle asked as his brother approached with Kenny. Butters and Karen had stayed across the room but were trying to listen in on the conversation in a pathetically unsubtle way.

"I don't have to explain myself to you or to anyone. I want to go outside, end of discussion." Ike turned to walk away, but Kenny grabbed his arm.

"Why?" Kyle hoped to appeal to his logical side – it was something they had both always had in common. "Randy never came back, Ike. Out there means certain death, we've heard it enough times."

"And what does staying here mean if not certain death as well?" Ike replied angrily, shaking his arm free of Kenny's grip. "You were the first person to admit that a couple of days ago, but now suddenly you've changed your mind because your boyfriend is alive? By all means you wait here for Super-Stan, but don't make me do it with you." The words were spoken with surprising venom, and it took Kyle a little off guard.

"I'm just being sensible. He's immune to whatever it is, so he could help us!" Kyle chose to ignore the boyfriend comment for the time being.

"Yeah right, your stupid jock fuck buddy is going to save us all from the apocalypse." Ike snarled, the comment making Kenny actually emit a little noise in shock, before composing himself again. Kyle was instantly too angry to act surprised.

"Shut the fuck up!" He shouted, and though it was fairly quiet as shouts go it was enough to get everyone else in the bunker to turn and see what was going on. "If you want to go running off without a second thought for your family, for your mother who would want you by her side, then you can. I don't care anymore." That wasn't true, he was just furious, but evoking Sheila seemed to work somehow and Ike's face admitted defeat; he just turned and walked back to his bunk without saying another word.

"Well done." Kenny said, sitting down next to him. Kyle was feeling a little light headed from all the energy he'd exerted, so he just lay back and offered no reply. "You know he didn't mean that." Kenny continued, lying down as well. "About Stan, he was just angry."

"I know." Kyle muttered. Ike had always gotten along well with Stan, so he was pretty sure it wasn't his honest opinion.

"Would you have gotten so annoyed if it was me he was insulting?" Kenny was absent-mindedly twirling a strand of Kyle's hair between his fingers. It was a massive, out of control mop of frizz these days, built of brittle hair that felt horrible to Kyle, so he couldn't understand Kenny's apparent pleasure in playing with it. Tomorrow he would cut it all off, since he was getting annoyed by the weight of it on his head.

"Of course." He replied, not sure of what the right thing to say was. Kenny reached over and began to stroke Kyle's cheek with the back of his hand, but the touch felt a little dirty now, like he was betraying Stan by letting it happen. He knew he had to be there for Kenny though, the way Kenny had been for him, and Stan would understand that too.

"Kyle…" The blond boy began, looking up at the ceiling as he spoke. "I wish I could believe that."

X

_Thanks to all readers and reviewers, as always it's really appreciated. _

_I actually have something to ask you all. Currently this story is down as 'angst' and 'romance'. It has occurred to me that I chose those really arbitrarily, so any ideas on which two genres this story should be labelled as would be great. _

_I feel like it's clearly a bit of sci-fi, but it's also action and romance, and I basically have no clue haha. _

_Anyway I hope you enjoyed, and let me know any thoughts!_


	10. Chapter 10

It took longer than Stan had anticipated to figure out where exactly these survivors were, but once he saw a white sign with 'Fort Collins Research Institute' written across it in bold black lettering, he knew he'd found it. According to the journal the man had mentioned a research center in the radio message, so this had to be the place. For once he'd had a bit of luck, and although he'd expected a lengthy search he hadn't even ended up needing the jerry cans of gasoline he'd gone to the trouble of loading into the trunk; driving around aimlessly had paid off.

He parked the car and ducked under the barrier, starting up the long drive towards the institute. It was all very new looking, but also quite low-profile; the main building was a dark grey and only three stories tall, with lines of large windows side-by-side on each floor (the large fence around the sight kept it private). Across a little paved area probably best described as a courtyard was another, smaller building. This one was more of a beige color and seemed totally out of use, with its windows boarded up.

Unsure of exactly what he should do, Stan just went up and tried to open the door of the larger building, but it was locked. He knocked loudly a couple of times, unable to find any kind of buzzer or button to press. Looking down he could see the dusting of ash on the paving by the door had been undisturbed for some time, which was a bad sign. He knocked a second time. If they have found a cure they would be able to go in and out of this place and he would be able to see footprints, but there were none.

Stan turned and jogged across the courtyard to the smaller building, keeping his anger in check by clenching and unclenching his fists. He hammered at this new door for about twenty seconds straight, then waited. He unfurled his hand when he noticed his fingernails had pierced the skin of his palm, a drop of blood creeping through the fingers and falling to the floor.

"Hello?" Stan shouted, kicking the base of the door. "Fuck!" He turned back up towards the main building, figuring he might just break one of the big windows to get in.

"Hello? Who's there?" Stan stopped in his tracks and went back to the door. "Hello?" The voice behind repeated, a little louder.

"Hi, I - I'm another survivor!" Stan could barely believe he was hearing a real person and excitement erupted in his chest. "Can I come inside?"

"Ah! Shit - no! I'm so sorry, but don't try and come in here…" The man sounded suddenly panicked. "Oh god I'm sorry!"

"It's okay." Stan said reassuringly, figuring out what was freaking him out so much. "I'm not going to burn out here, you don't have to worry!"

"...You're not?"

"No, but don't come out, it's not safe for everyone." He'd been poised to block this man from going outside anyway, standing by the door waiting to hold it shut if needs be. The chance that this guy could've thought it was safe again and tried to run out before he could explain was not one he was willing to take. He wasn't watching another person suffer like Cartman had. "So can I come in?"

"Uh..." he trailed off, leaving Stan staring at the door in an expectant silence for a few moments. "Wait a second."

"Thank you!" There were some muffled shuffling noises from inside and then silence again for a while.

"Ok, I'm going to unlock the door, but you need to wait until I shout before you come in." The man had returned to the other side of the door and was speaking carefully and slowly, clearly trying to ensure Stan didn't miss a detail. "And then once your inside you need to block the gaps around the door with the cloth and scotch tape that's on the floor on your right when you come in. Don't leave any gaps ok?"

"Err, ok." Stan said, fidgeting impatiently on the doorstep.

"Do you understand? This is vitally important!"

"Yes, I understand."

"Wait for the signal before you open the door!" The man repeated again, before Stan heard the clunk of a heavy lock turning, and some scampering footsteps away. "I'm ready! You can come in."

Stan swung the door open and stepped into what looked like a large canteen of some kind, with a handful of tables and a long serving counter. The man was nowhere to be seen, but the strips of black cloth and roll of tape he had mentioned were lying on the floor as promised, so Stan set about securing them over the edges of the door.

"Done!" He called out once he was satisfied with his handiwork.

"Make sure there are no gaps!" The shout came from another room at the far side of the canteen, probably the kitchen or bathroom, or something along those lines. Now the door was shut it was pitch black, so Stan couldn't tell exactly where.

"No gaps!" Stan shouted back, getting frustrated with the whole exercise but double checking just in case; unless this guy had gone insane in here there was probably a good reason for this, and it probably involved not wanting to burn to death.

Slowly the man emerged from the second room, his footsteps sounding small and nervous like someone scared to within an inch of their life. Once it was clear he hadn't died they walked towards each other, Stan feeling his way around the tables until they were standing just a few feet from each other.

"I don't have a light, sorry." The man said simply. Stan could tell he was very short, purely from the direction his voice was coming from. "I ran out of safe things to burn for a fire a few months ago."

"It's okay. I'm Stan, by the way." He held his hand out into the dark, before realizing the pointlessness of the gesture and letting it drop back to his side.

"Felix. You don't know how relieved I am to know someone else is alive." The relief was genuine; Stan could hear it in his voice. "How did you find me, did you hear the radio message?"

"Yes. Well, I didn't hear it directly, but yes." Stan had a truck-load of questions that he wanted to ask this man, but he didn't want to overwhelm him by hurling them all at him straight away.

"This is marvellous. The radio ran out of power months ago as well, I never thought anyone would find me..." Stan was a little concerned at the way this conversation was going. He was pretty sure Felix was alone here, and he didn't sound like someone with the sort of answers Stan was looking for. "So how are you immune to it? Can you treat me as well?"

"Oh god." Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a guttural groan in frustration. "I was sort of hoping you would have some answers for me. I know nothing."

"Ah." Stan could hear Felix's hopes fall about twelve stories and land flat on the sidewalk with that one word. "We'd better sit down. Are you hungry? I have some cured meat."

"No, thank you." Stan was pretty damn hungry, but he wasn't going to take food off someone who was trapped inside when he could go out and look for some himself.

"If you're sure. Here..." Felix guided him to a nearby table and they both sat down on the canteen chairs. They felt exactly like the ones Stan remembered from school - metal framed with a plastic seat, and not very comfortable.

"I thought this was a research center, to fix all of this?" He asked, figuring it was as good a place as any to start.

"Not exactly, this place was here before the Event. I'm the only one still here now though." Exactly as Stan had suspected.

"So you don't know anything about this either?" This could turn out to be a massive waste of time and energy, both of which were incredibly valuable at the moment.

"I didn't say that." Felix replied, and Stan could hear him shifting a little in his seat. "Ask me what you'd like to know, and if I can answer it I will."

"Ok…do you know what the event was?" That first question was so obvious it chose itself, as short of 'what's the cure?' it was the one thing he was desperate to know for certain.

"Yes. It was a chemical poisoning of the air." Felix said, with enough confidence that Stan believed him. Just like that all the myth and wondering was sort of broken.

"What, and it hasn't gone away yet? Is it going to last forever?"

"It doesn't work like that, but essentially yes, it will 'last forever'." The last two words were stressed, making Stan think maybe what he'd said was horribly stupid, but he wasn't sure why.

"So it was a terrorist attack? Or was it another country?" Stan had never really been an optimist when it came to the rest of humanity. From the cruelty of eating veal to the wars and violence he had been taught all he needed to know, so it wasn't surprising to think that people could be the ones to end their own existence on earth. In fact, if the adults of South Park were any example it was a miracle it had taken this long.

"I can't answer that I'm afraid." Felix started to drum his fingers against the surface of the table as he spoke, the noise seeming disproportionately loud in the empty room.

"You have no idea who did it?"

"Like I said, I'd like to answer that for you, but I just can't." Felix repeated. "Do you mind if I eat something? I'm famished."

"Go ahead." He heard footsteps away from the table, and a door swing open somewhere behind him. Stan thought about what to ask next while he waited; it wasn't that he'd been given a limited number of questions, it was just that he felt like he shouldn't waste any of this opportunity while it was here.

"I preserved as much of the food as I could." Felix announced on his return, his speech muffled by something strong-smelling he was chewing on. "I dried out the meat, pickled vegetables, made jams and chutneys. A lot of the supplies went bad in the first few weeks, but holing up in a work canteen definitely had its benefits."

"So what did you do here? Before, y'know…" Stan asked, feeling he should make some small talk and give the man a chance to eat before getting back to what he really wanted to find out.

"I'm a chemist." Felix replied, in between bites. "Well, I was anyway. Nobody is really _anything _these days. We're all just animals, trying to survive."

"I don't think so." Stan replied, taking a dislike to something about that statement.

"Why not?"

"Because…" He began, unsure of where exactly he was going. "Because I'm not trying to survive. I'm trying to live." He didn't want to just 'survive' on his own on this planet, he wanted to be with Kyle or die trying, and there was nothing animalistic about that.

"That's not a distinction." Felix said dismissively.

"I think it is." Stan replied. "Anyway, do you know anything else about this, anything that might be useful?" He hadn't come all this way to argue with some stranger about the meaning of life.

"I can explain the chemistry of it to you, if you'd like?" There was something horribly patronising in his voice when he said that, and Stan wasn't sure how they'd gone so quickly from being overjoyed at seeing another survivor to this underlying tension.

"Ok, explain it to me." He answered, purely out of anger at being treated like some hillbilly who wouldn't even know what an atom was. He'd been fairly good at chemistry in school, and even though that wasn't worth a whole lot he was going to at least give the explanation a listen.

"Fine then." Felix muttered, "It's photodisassociation. In _basic _terms, that's when a compound is broken down by light. Specifically UV rays, in this case."

Admittedly Stan hadn't known what photo-whatever had meant, but he could do without the sneering. "So how does that kill someone? I mean, why does it burn their insides?"

"It doesn't burn their insides as such, it burns in their veins. When a large enough dose of UV penetrates the skin the reaction starts, and the compound breaks down in the blood. The reaction gives off heat. Killed by our own blood...it's almost a poetic irony, I suppose." There was nothing poetic about it though, not to Stan and not to anyone else who had witnessed it happen, he was sure of that. It was impossible not to see Cartman with them in the room even as he heard this description, his figure writhing around in agony on the floor and his body seemingly evaporating away all over again in front of them both. It was so real he almost wanted to ask Felix if he could see him - if he could _hear _him screaming - but he knew this display was for him alone.

Stan tried to compose himself again, but his breathing was still ragged and he was drenched in sweat. His head felt heavy, like his brain was swollen and trying to break out, but at the same time he was lightheaded and dizzy. For a while Felix said nothing, probably able to hear Stan's discomfort from where he was sitting just a few feet away.

"The gas is inhaled, and gets into the bloodstream. That person is then infected forever." He eventually added, at least keeping description to a minimum. "We had a handful of hours here at the institute to try to figure out a cure, but we had no luck. Everyone fled home, but I was staying in a hotel at the time and I didn't have…" There was a brief pause, before Felix continued. "Anyway, I stayed."

_Didn't have anybody to go home to, _Stan thought, and it was heartbreaking, in a way. He didn't say anything in response though, as much as he'd have liked to find some comforting words for the man. His bitter attitude to everything made a little more sense now though.

"What I would like to know is why you are immune, when it should affect everyone." Felix muttered, and Stan heard him stand up from his seat. "This gas could pass through most air filters, most gas masks…"

"I don't know." Stan said, though suddenly he did understand and it was painfully obvious now. "Actually I wasn't breathing the air during the Event, I was hooked up to canisters for a couple of days…"

"So…that's your superpower then." Felix grumbled. "I wonder if any others from the institute thought of that." Stan wasn't sure if this made him relieved or not, knowing it was something as random as this that had decided why he was alive and Cartman wasn't.

"Can you not go out at night then?" Stan asked, suddenly thinking of what had to be an obvious question.

"The moon reflects light from the sun. Maybe at new moon, when only the dark side is showing, but even then it would be a risk as the dose required is so low. You would last a while longer out there at night though, I suppose."

There was little else of use that he could get from Felix; he had become agitated at further questions and started to become less and less forthcoming with answers. "Is there anything useful in the main building?" Stan asked eventually, hoping perhaps for some progress on a cure that Felix had been unaware of.

"No."

"Well do you have a key anyway? I'd like to take a look." Stan said as forcefully as he could. He was completely ready to get out of this place, but he still felt like there was something he could find out here that might actually help him.

"I do, but there's really no point." This conversation was like smacking your head against a brick wall. Stan pointed out that he could just as easily break one of the windows and get in though, at which point Felix relented and handed over a key ring with two keys and a security card of some kind. "Don't bother coming back here afterwards." He said bluntly as he passed them to Stan. "I'm exhausted and human contact wasn't as enjoyable as I remembered."

The routine of Felix hiding while the door was opened was repeated, only this time Stan had to attach the covers around the edges from the outside. At least he now knew the purpose was to block light. He jogged across the twenty meters or so of courtyard back to the main building, slotting in the correct key at the first attempt.

Inside was a foyer leading into a long corridor, with a handful of doors on either side. The floor was a greyish linoleum, reminiscent of the science department at school, but the furnishings were far more modern and expensive looking. A couple of flat-screen TVs hung on the walls, and there were even some very odd sculptures lying around, including what looked like a portrayal of the solar system using only different sized sports balls. The dim light from outside bathed the room in a glow through the large windows, and the floor was littered with papers, scattered about where they had been carelessly abandoned.

Stan searched some of the rooms, but there weren't really any labs to speak of, and mostly the place seemed to be used for administration. Whatever 'science' happened as a result of this place it seemed to only be decided here and carried out somewhere else. The upper floors all looked like they contained only some individual offices, and the largest room was at the end of the corridor on the ground floor itself. There was a long, rectangular table in the middle which marked it out as obviously being a meeting room of some kind.

On the table were some papers, and for some reason out of the thousands that he had glanced at, these drew Stan's eye. It was a presentation of some kind, the title of which was: _Project Gaia – Geoengineering._

The document was split into sections in the contents page, and with each one Stan began realize the true nature of what he was reading.

_The advantages of geoengineering_

_Problems with sulfates_

_The search for an alternative_

_Photodisassociation_

There was that word again. _Photodisassociation. _This place wasn't set up to try to save the world from the event – they caused it.

He read on as quickly as he could, not really wanting to know more but unable to look away. It was an attempt to halt global warming, to pump particles into the atmosphere that would reflect some of the sun's light and protect the earth. Under the 'Problems with sulfates' section they listed potential droughts, ozone depletion and deposition effects when the particles fall slowly back down from the sky. They were looking for the right compound, one that would break apart after a while in the sky into harmless substances, one that wouldn't damage the ozone layer.

There were then pages of complicated molecular diagrams, marked with words like: 'azobenzenes', 'hydroxides', 'peroxides', and most ridiculously of all 'azobisisobutyronitrile'. It went on and on like that, weighing up pros and cons of dozens of compounds. Stan threw the papers down and ran back out, into the corridor and then out of the building completely. He went back to the smaller building and hammered on the door once more.

"You fucking liar!" He shouted. "You said you didn't know! You did this!" He was screaming at the top of his lungs, furious that behind this one door was the person who probably killed his family, and killed Kyle.

"I never said I didn't know who caused it, I said I couldn't say – this is why! We were trying to help the world, we never meant for this!" Felix shouted back, though his voice was cracking. "Please don't touch the door, you'll kill me…"

Stan hadn't actually been considering removing the black cloth that he'd so carefully put up just moments before, and even though he was a tiny bit tempted to exact revenge there was no way he'd do it, even now.

"We thought the particles would stay up long enough to break apart in the air, we didn't think they would sink so fast." The voice from behind the door was still pleading, desperate and fearful. "As soon as we realised what was happening we tried to warn everyone. We never meant for this…"

Stan just walked away, hearing the voice getting smaller and smaller behind him as Felix continued to beg forgiveness. He went back to the main building again, and to the meeting room where he had found the papers; if there was anything useful to be found it would be here. He flicked through everything on the table he could see, but none of it even dealt with a possible solution, it was all wrapped up in going through everything that was great about the plan. This thing had government approval and tons of funding, and had all been kept hushed up to avoid protests from environmental groups that might have had a problem with it.

He moved about looking for anything he might have missed, when for the first time he noticed that there were still name plates around the table, marking out everyone to blame for this nightmare. He found 'Felix Hayden', but that wasn't what really caught his attention. The plate in front of the seat next to Felix's had another name engraved in the metal:

_RANDY MARSH._

...how...how could he?

Even with all the fucking stupid shit his dad had done over the years Stan still could barely believe it. He couldn't breathe, and his whole body felt white hot with rage.

Without thinking twice Stan stormed out and headed back down the drive to the car, pulling out one of the cans of fuel he'd left inside and heading back up again. His own father had been a part of this.

He'd found a lighter in the desk of one of the upstairs offices, and so Stan set about pouring the gasoline over everything. It sloshed over the desk, coating the papers with a tinge of yellow and dripping off the edges. The smell was overpowering in the fairly small space of the meeting room, but Stan lingered, taking extra care to coat Randy's part of the desk with the most liquid. He wasn't sure exactly why, but despite everything he still couldn't bear the thought that his father's name would be immortalised here, like this. Randy was stupid, very stupid, but he didn't deserve to be remembered as one of the people that caused this in the minds of any survivors, because he didn't know any better. People like Felix should've known, Randy just seemed to stumble into positions of authority.

He rolled up a sheet of paper and lit the end with the lighter, all the while dragging a trail of fuel along behind him. The second building was far away enough that Stan was confident the fire wouldn't spread, and so he barely hesitated when he dropped the flame. It didn't take long for the fire to take hold, engulfing the most of the building. He still couldn't think straight and couldn't even begin to process what he'd seen, but he just knew it needed to be purified, needed to be erased.

Smoke billowed up in a column, thickening the dark haze already in the sky, and at the end of the driveway with his arms folded and eyes unblinking, Stan just watched.

X

_Well, that was a difficult chapter!_

_For anyone interested who hadn't heard of it, geoengineering is a real idea to fight global warming, there are some convincing arguments about it on both sides!_

_We're getting close now, people!_


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: sorry for the big delay! I've been on holiday, and while originally I was planning to write the next chapters in advance and release one each week while I was away, time wasn't kind to me. Or I was too disorganised, depending on what's more believable. A quick thanks to MontanaBob anyway, who was going to help me post while I had no internet (had I been efficient enough to get them done of course). Anyway, here is the next chapter at last, for all of you who are still interested/alive:

X

There were three stages of starvation, weren't there? Or was it four? Kyle remembered learning about it during his doctor phase but he couldn't recall now. He'd given up on medicine when he realised a large part of it was about offering emotional support and a good bedside manner, things which he guessed might not play to his strengths. Still, however many 'stages' there were he knew what the final one was, and walking around the room he could tell they were all alarmingly close to that.

"How are you doing?" He asked Kenny, who was cradling Butters' head in his lap, his hand resting in the mess of blond hair. Yesterday had been a bad day, but today was much worse; this morning Butters didn't wake up. He was still breathing in some sort of hunger-induced coma and Kenny was staying by his side.

"It's him you should be asking about." Kenny replied a little harshly. It seemed to Kyle that the conscious people were the ones to be concerned about though, and Butters probably had a better deal by being out cold.

He passed a strip of leather to Kenny and left another next to Butters, just in case. Since apparently he was the last person who was able to get out of bed and there was still some leather left, he had decided to hand it out to all the others. Next the Stotch's accepted their two strips in silence, and his parents were both sleeping when he reached them. How his mother was still alive seemed like nothing short of a miracle, given the way she looked.

The last person he went to was Jimbo, who was sleeping in an awkward slightly hunched over position. Kyle placed a strip neatly alongside him, leaving just one left for his own meal. There was something odd about the way Jimbo looked though, and Kyle realised that his eyes were ever so slightly open as he slept. He reached out and touched one of Jimbo's still hairy but no longer large arms, and his heart fell through his chest when he was met with stone cold skin. Jimbo had died and none of them had even noticed.

He closed Jimbo's eyes and covered his face with a bed sheet, not bothering to tell anyone else what he'd discovered. Lying back down Kyle was exhausted, and the leather was unforgiving in his mouth, chewy and chemical-tasting despite the fact that he'd boiled it up beforehand. He was sure that it wasted more effort chewing it than there was to be gained by eating the stuff. His vision felt cloudy and wavering, like he was looking at everything from a ship on a rough, foggy sea. He felt ill but couldn't find the energy to get up, instead just turning his head and throwing up what he had just eaten in a pathetic dribble next to his bunk. He knew he was about to pass out well before everything went black.

X

The engine was letting out a satisfying bellow as Stan flew back down the interstate towards South Park. The trees that lined the road seemed to merge into eachother at this speed, becoming just a wall of brown and green stretching on for miles, and the tyres were giving an ear splitting screech every time he swerved around an abandoned car. The stereo was blasting some loud rock from the compilation CD he'd picked up at a gas station (he wasn't sure of the band, but it was guitar-heavy with some angry vocals and for once that was exactly what he wanted). Lying on the passenger seat was a bottle of whiskey (also from the the gas station and already almost half empty), an unopened pack of cheetos and his revolver, the metal clinking against the glass of the whiskey as the car moved.

There was a clear stretch of about four or five hundred yards in front of him, at the end of which two cars sat blocking both lanes. A gap that looked maybe just a fraction bigger than his Ford separated them from each other, and Stan lined the car up to aim straight at it. Then...he shut his eyes.

He could hear the engine build to a high pitched howl as the car picked up speed, and with every split second more and more road was disappearing behind him. Slowly Stan eased his grip on the wheel, feeling it start to slide a little under his fingertips as the car pulled naturally to one side. The stereo was blaring out some song with a choppy guitar riff, which was building it's way up to an angry finale. His heart was racing and his whole body was on edge; he actually felt alive again. He leaned back, bracing himself for an impact.

There was a dull thud followed immediately by a smashing noise, and Stan opened his eyes quickly. The car was through to the other side of the gap and still in one piece, excluding a conspicuous absence where the left wing mirror used to be. He couldn't really explain why he'd done it; in fact it hadn't really felt like him driving - he'd been sort of watching from the passenger seat for the whole reckless stunt. Now it would take some time for the adrenaline pulsing through his body to ease off and his heart rate to return to normal.

He carried on driving straight through South Park without stopping, looking out of the window with grim fascination at what was left of his home town. His house was still standing, as was a surprising amount of the town center, but the elementary school was gone completely. Aside from the piles of charred rubble it was like a part of his childhood had just been wiped from existence. It was unnerving to think that people started those fires inadvertently, while they were dying. He detoured a little to drive past Kyle's house, and was relieved when it was still standing as well. Anything that meant he might have avoided that horrible fate and died in the bunker instead was good news.

The road began to leave the scattered buildings of South Park behind and wind its way up into the mountains, becoming gradually steeper as it went. The town looked more and more surreal the higher he got, the sprinkling of ash on the ground painting it a light grey, almost like a snowglobe waiting to be shaken by some curious kid.

Stan turned onto a dirt track that broke off from the main road, following it through a dense cluster of trees and out again onto a remote ledge. The car gave out just as he was about to park it up, shuddering to a halt within sight of what he was looking for. The oil change warning light had been glaring at him for ages, so it wasn't a big surprise.

He grabbed his things from the passenger seat and walked the rest of the way, feeling strangely serene being back here. At the end of the ledge there was a spectacular view of South Park and the neighbouring areas, with their sparse buildings and sweeping forests. This was where he'd gone with Kyle on their first - and now last - actual date. No one else really seemed to know about it, but being up here gave him chills every time.

Backing away from the ledge he sat at the base of a tree that stood nearby. Just above his head both of their names were cut into the wood, Stan's name in Kyle's writing (still unmistakable when carved with a knife) and Kyle's in his.

At the time Kyle had cringed at the whole thing, telling Stan that it was so clich**é**d and way too romantic. He'd responded by jokingly accusing Kyle of being a goth and too non-conformist, because really he didn't care if it was unoriginal. For some reason he'd wanted to experience every clich**é **with Kyle.

He realised he'd forgotten the whiskey, which must have rolled off the pasenger seat and into the footwell during the drive. For a while he considered getting up again and walking the twenty paces or so to get it, but finally decided against it; this was cowardly enough already, so he could at least do it sober.

Stan leaned his head back against the tree, feeling the rough bark press against his skull. He took hold of the revolver next to him with both hands and held it up, inspecting it in the fading light. It always surprised him that a gun was this heavy.

It had been a year and a half, which meant everyone he loved was now dead, and there was no cure anyway. It didn't make sense that he was still alive - his own father had been part of the cause of this, so he deserved to die more than most. He'd thought about trying to get food into the bunker, and seeing if anyone was still there, but his head was warning him loudly that he would just end up having the torturous experience of finding a set of dead bodies. Best case scenario he finds them alive, and they live in perpetual darkness in a post apocalyptic hell hole until all food runs out, like rats in a cage. He wasn't sure if he genuinely thought it was kinder not to try and save them anymore or if he was just too weak to carry on fighting, but he did feel like maybe he was being selfish. He just couldn't go on like this though, and he would rather take his chances at meeting Kyle in the afterlife than risk having to see his dead body, or keep him alive trapped underground in a tiny room his whole life. Stan believed in God anyway, or at least he thought he did. Silently he looked up and told the heavens he would believe whatever they wanted him to.

This would probably hurt, a lot. He considered the whiskey again and then dismissed it, again. He made sure the safety was off and checked to see if the gun was loaded, which it was; there was one bullet left. This world was a barren wasteland, and humans weren't supposed to live here anymore. The universe would be right again once he was gone.

His hand was shaking when he lifted the revolver, and it clanked against his teeth as he put the barrel in his open mouth. The metal was shockingly cold against his lips and he didn't like the sensation, so he pulled the gun out and pressed it against his temple instead. He refused to do this with his eyes shut, wanting instead to take in everything that was around him right now. The sky was the clearest he'd seen it since the Event, with chinks of sunlight actually cutting their way through now and lighting up the ground like spotlights on an empty stage. His eyes scanned over the tips of the mountains, which were the only things that remained totally unaffected by this. They were constant, and nothing humans did could ever really change that, no matter how stupid or evil.

Stan moved his finger onto the trigger and let it rest there, getting used to the feeling for a moment. His car was the only real blot on the landscape up here, out of place and ugly in front of such delicate looking scenery. The underside was leaking oil as well; he could see a filthy stain slowly forming on the ground.

He was ready now, and started to squeeze the trigger very gently, unable to bring himself to yank it back firmly and be done. Like peeling off a bandaid he applied more pressure slowly, wincing and waiting for it to suddenly go off. Stan glanced at the car again, at the oil still dripping out of it. A steady line of black drops followed eachother back to the ground they'd been sucked from a long time ago.

Somewhere in his brain a neuron sparked into life and made a connection, but was unable to send the message to his finger in time to stop the trigger from finally clicking down. There was an ear splitting, deafening roar as the bullett flew from the chamber. A moment later a couple of strands of raven hair fell gently into his lap. He had managed to turn his hand away just enough for the bullett to miss his head. Behind him it had embedded itself in a tree trunk, but there was an eerie silence as there were no birds around to scatter in fright.

Stan leapt up and began to run, straining every muscle to move his legs as quickly as possible. How had he not thought of this earlier? It was a long shot at best, but how had everyone missed it? He would never forgive himself for almost giving up. His feet were pounding against the hard ground as he sprinted past his car and back towards South Park, his head filled once more with all the hope and urgency he thought had deserted him for ever.


	12. Chapter 12

The yellow glow from the lamp at the center of the room was beginning to fade. They hadn't been rationing the day's power like they used to, so it was left on each day until the electricity inevitably ran out. The light was faint and flickering now, casting long shadows off all the bunks and making everything seem a little colder than before.

The darkness wasn't actually what Kyle hated though, it was the silence. With no one speaking there was nothing to differentiate one seemingly endless hour from the next. The last few days had crept by so slowly it felt like time itself was grinding to a halt. In a way he supposed it was.

His mother had insisted that he moved to Randy's vacant bunk to be closer to her, and he didn't have the heart to say no, considering how hard it had been for her to even get those few words out. Besides, as much as he'd needed Kenny these last few weeks Kyle knew he should be with his family now. Unfortunately Kenny didn't have any family other than his younger sister to gain the same comfort from.

Kyle pulled the covers off the bed and sat upright. He didn't need to remind himself of the promise he'd made when he saw Stan's message on TV, he would keep fighting until his last breath. That meant getting up and handing out supplies again. He stood up, but quickly sunk to his knees, unable to support himself this time. Every muscle felt feeble and sore, and though he was used to the ache in his stomach it was spreading through his body now, in throbbing pains across his chest and forehead. There was no way he could get to the supply room where the rest of the leather was being kept; he couldn't even haul himself back into bed.

He made an effort to crawl over towards the supply room anyway, but it only made him light headed and in danger of passing out. In the state he was in there was absolutely no guarantee he would wake up again if he did black out, so he just stayed curled up on the floor, managing to pull his sheets back over himself to combat the cold air. The light from the lamp was even fainter now, essentially just an orange dot in the centre of the room, like a lone firefly. Then a second later it was gone completely.

This would be how Stan would find them, if he ever managed to get here with a cure. Kyle shuddered at the thought of it. They only had themselves to blame, for using far too much of their rations in those early months and naively thinking they had more than enough. Hopefully Stan would recover from it eventually, and find other survivors. It would probably take a while, there was no point denying that. Finding the bodies of your loved ones like this in a hole in the ground would be emotionally devastating, and Stan had never been good with grief. Still, if there were survivors then people would fall in love with him, like they always seem to, and Kyle hoped that maybe one day Stan would be able to love in return again, too.

Kyle pulled the blanket in tight around his neck, but his arms were still shaking underneath. He'd always been slim (the diabetes limiting his sugar intake had played a role in that), but now that he had no body fat at all he was finding it incredibly cold all the time down here. It brought back memories of their hundreds of snowball fights as kids, when they would go out and pelt each other all day, before coming back inside soaked and freezing. If they were all staying at Stan's then Sharon would get blankets and hot chocolate, and if they went back to his house they'd get a lecture from Sheila on how inappropriately dressed they all were, and how they could have got pneumonia...but then she'd always get them blankets and hot chocolate too. He would do unspeakable, unforgivable things for one of his mom's hot chocolates right now, with marshmallows and cream. It wouldn't even bother him if the marshmallows were sugar-free.

It was hard to tell how long he'd been lying there for, but at some point he began to slip in and out of a deep sleep, waking briefly and then passing out again. He didn't dream of much, but while he was awake his drowsy thoughts were filled with images of South Park and his childhood. People in an accident supposedly see their life flash before their eyes, but Kyle supposed these blurred and brief recollections were as close as he would get. He had this inescapable feeling that his life was ebbing away now - it was something innate that told him he was out of time.

He was half awake when a thumping noise started in the bunker, or perhaps it was the noise that woke him up. Either way, it sounded like someone hitting a trashcan lid with a baseball bat, and it was getting progressively louder. Underneath it he could just hear a muffled voice shouting, one that sounded a little like-

Kyle's heart jumped, and he checked as best he could that he was awake and the noise wasn't just in his head. When it seemed to be real he headed for the source, which was the hatch into the bunker. Stan had actually made it, he was still alive and he had come for them. Even with the adrenaline suddenly flowing through his body Kyle could only move about half a metre before he collapsed again, his head too light to focus on crawling and his body too heavy to move. He couldn't really hear what Stan was saying, so he tried just shouting 'help!' at the top of his lungs. What came out was little more than a hoarse whisper though, something barely audible from a few feet away let alone outside the heavy bunker walls.

He heard someone else shout to his right, and it sounded like Linda Stotch, but if anything it was even quieter than his own effort. This couldn't be happening, it was too cruel to be real; Stan was outside but he couldn't get in, and whoever was left alive inside was too weak to make themselves heard. He would assume they were all dead.

The banging became more rapid and the yells sounded more frantic - desperate even. Kyle started screaming over and over, not any words just a noise he hoped Stan would hear. He was struggling to take deep breaths in between his shouts, and he could feel himself starting to lose consciousness yet again. This was the worst kind of torture, the worst way to die. There must be no God, or if he exists he must be the sadistic anti-Semite Cartman always claimed he was.

Kyle heard a figure move in the bunker, and from the groans and the direction of the noise he knew it was Kenny. He was moving towards the bunker's hatch. There was a heavy groan as the door swung open, for the first time since Randy had slipped away in the night. He felt like he was drifting up and away from the room somehow as this was unfolding, and the sound of footsteps rushing towards him were muffled like he was hearing them underwater. He was ecstatic that Stan had reached him, even though he couldn't shake the feeling that he might be dying here, right now, and it would all be too late and horribly unfair. It still meant that he would get to say a proper goodbye.

"Kyle, Kyle!" Stan was kneeling by his side now, whispering in his ear and sliding his arms underneath him to pick him up. Kyle tried to say something coherent but he was too dazed, and all he could think of was how this was all his fault, how they could have rationed more strictly and he might have survived. Maybe even Randy would still be alive as well.

"I love you." He managed to croak out, wanting to at least use the last of his energy to say something meaningful. "I'm s-sorry."

"No, I'm sorry! I'm so goddamn sorry Kyle! Just stay awake a while longer, c'mon..." Stan's voice was fractured, like he was crying. They kept intermittently muttering apologies to each other as Stan carried him out of the bunker, both certain that this was their own fault and yet equally adamant that the other had nothing to feel guilty about.

Soon Stan's words faded away though, and all Kyle could hear were the rapid footsteps against the floor and his ragged breathing. Suddenly there was silence and he'd been left alone again. Some time passed, though he had no idea how much. He tried to focus on staying awake but it was too difficult, and slowly he was smothered by nothingness.

X

The initial joy was gone. Dread had taken its place. Stan had found most of them alive, but only just, and a race against time was not what he'd been expecting. He grabbed a torch and turned it on, clenching around it with his teeth so he still had use of both hands. Moving all of them into the truck was looking increasingly more difficult than he'd anticipated, but there was no time for a plan B now.

The tent looked fairly solid despite essentially just being sheets of tarpaulin draped over his truck, the roof of which held it up (acting as the tent pole), and the material then stretched around the entrance to the bunker. He'd taken huge care with it, pegging it into the earth in dozens of places and layering the sheets until no light whatsoever could penetrate. Still, he worked quickly, the fear that the tent might collapse or was allowing light in somehow providing a constant worry.

Kyle was safely in the truck's container. He looked awful, on the verge of death - but then they all did to varying degrees - and as much as Stan wanted to stay by Kyle's side and comfort him he didn't have a second to spare. He grabbed his mom next, scooping her up and moving back out of the bunker. He wanted desperately to whisper something consoling in her ear, but the torch was making that impossible. She looked totally out of it anyway, just smiling manically at him as he lifted her into the truck.

Kenny was the only person still standing, but he was clearly in no state to help carry the others. If he hadn't opened the bunker hatch though Stan had no idea what he'd have done; he had just turned around to go and look for a drill or crowbar or something else he could use to break in when Kenny suddenly appeared. The odds of him actually managing to pry open a door built to withstand a nuclear attack would have been pretty fucking slim. He looked at Kenny and gestured at the truck, but the blond boy refused to move, instead just pointing towards two of the bunks. Stan went over to one and picked up the limp form of Butters, who was out cold, and carried him to the truck. It was a good thing that Stan had regained some of his strength over the last few weeks, but more importantly they were all feather-light. Only once Kenny saw Stan pick Karen up as well did he start to trudge towards the door. He looked a little like a member of the undead, dragging his feet as his skeletal figure moved out of the bunker.

Inside the place was disgusting, with a distinct smell that he knew now was that of death. Seeing the way they had been living for so long was shocking beyond belief, but his adrenaline and the time pressure he was under seemed to form a sort of emotional shield around him, not allowing the reality of the situation to sink in. By the time he had emptied the bunker they were all accounted for, lying side by side in the container on the back of the truck, with the notable exceptions of Jimbo - who he'd found under a blanket and stone cold (accounting for the deathly reek) - and his dad, who was nowhere to be seen. That didn't hit him as hard as he would have expected, but then it wasn't hard to figure out why.

"Where are we going?" Linda Stotch asked as he returned to the truck again, her voice predictably hoarse but managing to sound shrill none the less. "Young man, how do you know it's safe?" The others were all asleep or too weak to talk, but she was awake and clearly agitated.

"If you don't want to come I'll take you back inside." Stan replied, not in the mood to be cross-examined for trying to save her life. "Well?" He raised an eyebrow at her, not that she would be able to see it with the torch pointing away from his face. There was a brief silence from the container. "Good." He added, slamming the doors shut.

It was pretty much secure in terms of blocking the light - he'd tested it out in the daylight earlier - but the entrance definitely needed more covering. He'd kept one sheet of tarpaulin aside for that purpose, and began to fasten it around the closed doors. He figured there was no harm in collapsing the makeshift tent over the rest, unpegging the material from the ground and fastening it however he could to the base of the truck, so the container was wrapped up like a Christmas present (admittedly a slightly sinister one, in crumpled black material, but nevertheless). Finally he was left standing out in the cool evening air. The moon was high already, which meant he didn't have time to spare - there was no way he wanted to do this in daylight.

The journey back was quick despite his careful driving, and before long he was moving up the long, winding drive towards the South Park Genetic Engineering Ranch. He turned the truck slowly, still not really used to handling such a big vehicle even though he'd been driving it for a few days now. He lined up the tail end and reversed the truck into yet another makeshift tent, this time one that jutted out from the entrance to the ranch. He killed the engine and hopped out, walking around to inspect everything. The windows of the Ranch's ground floor were all still fully boarded up, and once the flap for the entrance was dragged down and pegged the truck was in pitch black once more. Stan started ripping the covers off the container, free to rush again now that he had double checked everything was safe.

He knocked on the door to the ranch and straight away heard footsteps as Dr. Mephesto and Kevin approached. It was time to start. They carried the group down into the basement, and this time even Kenny was not strong enough to walk. Once they were down there Stan could see that Mephesto had done a good job of setting up the room. There were rows of beds all made up with sheets, and the limited equipment Stan had gathered together from hospitals was all neatly in place. Unfortunately there was obviously still no power down here, but they didn't really need any for this to work. Besides he had stocked up on candles, a few of which were now burning around the room.

"I have mentioned this before, but I just want to remind you that I'm not _that_ kind of doctor..." Mephesto said, turning to look at Stan. "I only have a vague idea of what to do."

"I know, but that's more than I've got." Stan shrugged, going back to placing blankets over their new 'patients'. It was his plan, but that didn't mean he knew how to carry it out - in fact he'd only thought this whole thing up because he saw his car leaking oil up in the mountains. After a while the oil in a car becomes less and less functional, but then when it's totally useless you don't scrap the car - you just change the oil. This 'infection' was in the blood, so that was what they were going to do...change their blood. A full transfusion, replacing every last drop with fresh, uninfected cells.

Mephesto was silent for a while after that. He'd been anxious about this plan since Stan first told him about it, but the fact that he was still going along with it proved it was the only option left open to them. The hardest bit so far had been finding donor blood - it turned out that about 99% of it is only stored in a fridge for a few weeks before it's either used or has gone off. For days Stan had searched a short list of research labs that Mephesto had given him, looking for one that had significant amounts of cryogenically frozen blood that was still usable. At his fourth attempt he'd found a place near Sacramento in California that was partially solar powered and had enough frozen blood samples to give this a shot. As lucky breaks go, it was a huge one. The first three had all been externally powered, meaning their freezers had failed and the blood was totally unusable. The first place he'd seen had actually burned to the ground as well, which hadn't exactly filled him with hope. He was actually indebted to the eco-maniacal Californians for building a carbon-neutral lab (sure, they were probably the sort of smug assholes who thought their own farts were delicious, but he sure as hell didn't care now). The more he thought about it though the more he regretted not going to the bunker first, building the tent and using it to give them supplies. He'd been so excited by his idea that he hadn't had the presence of mind to think of that, but there was no point dwelling on it now. If they didn't survive he would have the rest of his life to dwell on it anyway.

He helped Mephesto however he could, bringing him whatever he asked for and keeping an eye on everyone, but he felt a little useless now the real work had begun. Luckily they had the means in the lab to test everyone's blood type, since Stan only knew his mom's and Kyle's from memory (even then he wasn't certain about either). Before they would begin the procedure on anyone though they had to set them all up with drips to combat the malnutrition, and then it would all be staggered based on who looked the most fit to undergo the transfusion. Kyle would be third last, with only Butters and Sheila below him in the order.

All that was left to do now was wait. Stan sat by Kyle's bed and watched as the fluid from his IV slowly made its way into his body. He looked so frail and weak that Stan found it hard to look at him without welling up. He'd spent so much of the last few weeks dreaming of getting back by Kyle's side, but it had never crossed his mind that it might be as agonizing as this. He remembered lying in the derelict supermarket, clutching the green ushanka and envisioning them running into each other's arms like in some Hollywood flick. Now it was as if someone had taken his friend and reduced him to a husk. Bones protruded in an ugly, uncomfortable way, and his skin was flaky and almost grey. Even his striking hair seemed a little duller, and was definitely thinned and weakened from malnutrition. Still, when Stan had first gotten into the bunker he'd been met by the same shining pair of emerald eyes he'd known for so long, and there was life in them – there was a willingness to fight in them – that he knew he'd seen.

On top of everything, Stan couldn't help but worry about Liane Cartman as well; she was nowhere to be seen, hiding away and grieving. When he came back for the first time from the mountain he had told Liane about Eric (in minimal detail) and lord knows it had hit her hard. Telling any mother that her son had died would be a near impossible thing to do, but everyone knew Cartman was the biggest mamma's boy at heart, and it was even worse because of it. If he could drag himself away from Kyle he would be trying to comfort her, but right now he had to be selfish. Kyle needed him here.

"Hey, would you try to warm this up? My dad says we're nearly ready to start on the blond boy." Stan looked up to see Kevin holding out a blood bag and giving him a weak smile. He took it slowly - a little stunned that Kevin had strung that many words together in a sentence - and began to massage it in his hands, kneading it to generate some warmth. Even though the blood had arrived over half a day ago and was defrosted, it was best to pre-warm it. Kevin had obviously seen him getting lost in his thoughts and decided to keep him occupied by giving him that job. They only had about a twelve hour window from when the blood finished defrosting before it was unusable, but it sounded like Kenny had been deemed ready to go. Stan moved the pocket about, rotating between putting it under his arms and gently sitting on it to try to build up the heat. The sensation of it made him queasy, and he didn't like the slightly thick, almost syrupy feel when he squeezed it. Then again he'd never had the strongest stomach.

After a while Dr. Mephesto came and took the bag, handing him another one to do the same with in return. This process would take some hours. Now it was beginning Stan started to get even more nervous about the whole thing, which was only really a shot in the dark. He would say they were playing God, but it was almost more extreme even than that, rolling the dice on all of these lives. Every few minutes he would take hold of Kyle's wrist and feel for his pulse, holding his hand there for a while just to be satisfied that nothing was certain yet, not as long as their hearts kept beating. After all, they had both made it this far against all the odds.

X

_A/N: Apologies yet again for the slow update! The next chapter is actually going to be quicker (these aren't just empty words!). _

_Anyway, they are reunited at last! Only took 12 chapters for the main characters to share a scene xD_

_Thank you so much to everyone who has shown any interest in this at all, it means the world to me. _


	13. Chapter 13

The sound of a heartbeat - his heartbeat - pulsed in Kyle's ears. He opened his eyes to find himself in a new place, a dim room with just a couple of distant candles flickering. Something was up. He ached and his muscles were all stiff, and there was this weird feeling in his stomach, like he'd eaten something funny. He racked his brain trying to remember the night before, since his mind felt totally empty. Suddenly it all hit him at once. It was overwhelming, like being plunged into icy cold water – the Event, the bunker, Randy, Jimbo and Butters came flooding back. Then Stan, he remembered Stan had come for them, and the most incredible relief and excitement washed over his whole body. He turned his head and saw a silhouetted figure slumped in a chair next to him, and knew straight away it was him. Only then did he notice that Stan's hand was actually clasped around his wrist, like he was making sure Kyle wouldn't float away in a light breeze or wander off in the night.

A cool sensation began to creep along his spine from the exhilaration, like an ice cube was sliding down his back, and he had chills across his forearms as well. They were back together, just a foot or so apart, and they were both still alive. He moved his arm a little, and instantly the silhouette jumped into life, waking with a start. There was only a momentary pause before Kyle was engulfed. Stan held him tightly but was gentle too, clearly aware of how fragile Kyle felt.

"I – I didn't think you were gonna wake up…" Stan said, finally letting go. Kyle watched as the raven haired boy fumbled in his pockets, before pulling out a box of matches. He struck one up and reached for a candle behind him, tipping the wick into the hottest part of the flame. "I thought I'd lost you man."

"Nah, I thought I'd stick around a while longer." Kyle joked. He wasn't sure why he was making bad jokes at a time like this; maybe he was a little delirious. His voice was still frail, but he was smiling for the first time in God knows how long. Stan let out a little laugh, but the damp tear trails left on his cheeks were glistening in the candlelight. It took a huge physical effort on his part, but Kyle reached up and ran his finger along one of the tracks, following it from under Stan's damp eye - which was like staring at a clear lake on a misty morning - to the heavy stubble covering his cheek. It felt incredible, just being able to reach out and touch him again. It was the sort of thing most people would normally take for granted, but Kyle had always appreciated moments like this. In his early teens he had longed for any excuse to have some kind of physical contact with Stan, and every hug or 'accidental' touch would be on his mind for days afterwards. This though, after all this time, was on another level completely.

"I'm so fucking glad you did." Stan said, smiling back. He was stroking the top of Kyle's head lightly and kept chuckling to himself with a sort of disbelieving happiness. Even with the fairly dim light Kyle was a little shocked at how much older he looked. He remembered in their last Summer holidays together Stan had tried to grow a beard of sorts but it had failed pretty epically, ending up patchy and uneven and making him look a lot like a homeless person, until Sharon had forced him to shave it. Now there was a dense layer of stubble, but it wasn't just that that made him look older, it was something about his eyes and his manner as well. Kyle wondered if he looked a lot older too, but he doubted it. He probably just looked like utter shit, ugly and skeletal. He had a pang of self-consciousness at that thought, but before a seed of doubt could properly germinate in his mind Stan bent down and pressed their lips together, proving just how ridiculous he was being. It was soft and quick, but there was a sort of unspoken acknowledgement that a more fitting 'reunion kiss' would happen when Kyle was better.

He didn't worry even for a second that this might be some dream or hallucination. It was too real, too perfect to be just something an oxygen-starved mind had imagined. He dragged up every memory of staring at the contents of his brown envelope in the bunker, every time he told himself Stan was dead. He owned those memories now, and they were sweet.

He looked up then to see that Kenny had wandered over to their bed, and had watched at least the last part of their little moment. Kyle couldn't really read much from the expression on his face, but he felt guilty in the pit of his stomach for doing that while Kenny was around, even unintentionally.

"Hey, how're you doing?" The blond boy asked, perching on the side of the bed.

"I'm alright." Kyle replied quickly. "Listen Kenny, I'm really sorry about that – I mean I didn't know you were there, and after what happened between us in the bunker and-"

"Kyle, really, it's fine. Actually it's better than fine, it's great. I'm so happy for you both." He said, giving them a weak smile. "Actually no offence or anything, but you're not exactly the love of my life either. In fact, I think I finally know who is…" Kenny glanced very quickly at one of the beds behind him, indicating what had just become painfully obvious to Kyle anyway.

"Oh, Ken." Kyle whispered, craning his neck to try to see if Butters' condition had improved even a little bit since he last saw him.

"I always knew how you felt." Kenny said, and Kyle realized that the sadness and the slightly clouded expression on Kenny's face had been worry for Butters not jealousy or betrayal or anything like that. He felt like an asshole for even having thought that for a second. "We were both in need of a bit of human contact, that's all. It was nothing really." The blond added, but this time he was talking to Stan, who they had both been ignoring and was wearing a bemused look on his face.

"I know." Stan said softly, cutting off any chance Kyle had to make an apology. "I'm really glad you had each other down there. Thanks for looking after him for me Ken." Kenny left not long after that, and the two of them returned to a sort of happy stupor. It felt to Kyle like it would take weeks to get used to being near each other again, and this surging happiness inside of him wasn't fading at all.

He reached up and grabbed a fistful charcoal-colored hair, holding on to it like it was his anchor to Stan. "I can't believe you actually made it…" He said softly, still trying to adjust to how this had all happened so quickly.

"Of course I did, but we can't take it easy yet Kyle, not even close…" Stan replied. There was a pause while he seemed to be deliberating on whether or not to say anything else. "I wouldn't have been able to carry on if I'd lost you." He eventually added.

"Don't say that." Kyle hated the fact that he knew from Stan's voice this wasn't a lie.

They talked for what felt like hours but was probably no more than forty minutes, and Kyle bombarded Stan with questions. Stan's seemingly very vague and brief explanations were constantly interrupted by little kisses or repeated conversations about just how happy they were to be with each other again, and how much they loved one another. Stan almost seemed reluctant to talk about anything. He did learn a little about the nature of the Event though (some government-led scientific error) and how Stan had woken up here in the Ranch and went to Denver with Cartman, who didn't survive. Stan went on to describe meeting a scientist and having the idea to give them all a blood transfusion, and that was pretty much all Kyle was told. His mother was alive and getting better by all accounts, but was still bed-ridden, and everyone had survived the transfusion (though Stephen Stotch had to be given CPR at one point apparently). He still had so much left to ask, but there would be plenty of time for more questions later.

"Anyway," Stan said, heavy-handedly changing the subject completely. "I'm gonna go grab you some water and some soup. I've been stocking up. If you think your body can handle some actual food, that is…"

"I'll try." Kyle said, over the moon at the idea of any kind of real, human food that wasn't being fed directly into his bloodstream. He knew he had to take it easy though, since he'd read about people killing themselves by suddenly eating too much after a period of starvation.

"Awesome." Stan bent down and kissed Kyle again, this time on the cheek, but tantalizingly close to his lips. "I might check in on my mom real quick too, but I won't be long. Sleep, if you feel like you need it."

Thinking about it Kyle was pretty tired. As soon as Stan left he became aware of his headache again as well, which had clearly been pushed to the back of his mind by the sheer joy of being back with the boy he loved at long last. Sleep was creeping back on him, despite the fact that he had the impression he'd only just woken from a very long rest. He had a feeling, however, that this would be the easiest and most peaceful sleep in a long time.

X

Stan walked over to a table in the corner of the lab, where all the food was kept. The feeling of relief was too immense really to put into words, and he stood at the table for a while doing nothing, just allowing it all to sink in. Ninety-two hours, it had been all in all, sitting there just waiting for any kind of movement from Kyle. They'd had to perform the transfusion after just a few hours of Kyle being on the drip, due to the short life-span of the thawed blood, and he had seemed far too weak to survive it. The waiting had been the most agonizing time he'd ever experienced, worse even than everything he'd been through up until now. It was the proximity, he figured, being able to reach out and touch Kyle but yet in constant fear that he'd be stolen away again.

He grabbed a metal pan and filled it with water, before putting it on an iron stand above a Bunsen burner. He'd found a gas canister in the supermarket he raided for supplies, which meant they could actually use this thing. He turned the gas on and held a match over the nozzle, watching it ignite with a blue-ish flame. It felt like being back in high school chemistry, though right now he wasn't trying to evaporate the water from a solution to make crystals or anything, it was just soup.

He'd only left Kyle's side twice in those four days; once to go and get supplies, and once to help with Dr. Mephesto's own transfusion. That had been terrifying, but at least the doctor was awake, able to instruct him and guide him through it all, needing only the occasional bit of help. Stan was startled a little by a hiss from the pan, and the water was starting to come up towards the boil. He opened a packet of 'tomato soup powder' and poured it in. He'd chosen the soup powder mainly because there was almost nothing else that hadn't expired, but also because he hoped it would appeal to pretty much everyone. Looking at the thin, splotchy red liquid in front of him he was no longer as convinced.

"Hello Stanley." He turned to see Dr. Mephesto standing next to him, smiling. He wasn't sure why, maybe it was all the pent up emotions, but he engulfed him in an enormous hug.

"Kyle's awake." He said after a while, fighting back the tears that seemed to be welling up yet again. He wasn't normally a crier. "Thank you so much doctor."

"I-er," Mephesto started, and Stan realized then the awkward length of this embrace. Dr. Mephesto was someone he would never have envisioned sharing a lengthy hug with a year ago. "For goodness' sake call me Alphonse, anyway."

"Oh okay, well thank you Alphonse." Stan said, letting the poor man go. It felt weird addressing him on first name terms though, even after all they had been through.

"Besides, I'm the one who owes you my gratitude, young man." Stan hated this sort of thing, so he just mumbled something about it being a team effort and let Mephesto walk away. It wasn't that he didn't like being praised or thanked, it was just that it felt different when people were thanking him for something _this _big. After all, he'd had the good fortune to have woken up immune to the Event, so who in is situation would have done anything differently? He'd just reacted like anyone would.

Now he thought about it, Mephesto, Kevin and Liane had all held up remarkably well – they were frail and malnourished of course, but not to anywhere near the same extent that everyone from the bunker was. It was probably because of their stringent rationing, since Stan remembered getting only the tiniest amount of water and a couple of biscuits to 'last' him a whole day when he was living down there. In the very corner of the room however, under a sheet, was an enormous pile of bones. They were all stripped clean of every scrap of meat, and there were no 'test subjects' left in any of the cages, just as Stan had suspected the first time he'd awoken here. Thinking about it made him shudder a little, especially since Dr. Mephesto had loved that stupid monkey like a family pet.

The soup looked as ready as it was ever going to be, so he took it off the heat. After managing to find a bottle of water to accompany it among their meager supplies, Stan took the meal to Kyle. Predictably, the redhead was peacefully sleeping. He set the tray down next to Kyle's bed, cursing his lack of foresight in making a meal that would be totally disgusting to eat cold. Kyle's sleeping form looked perfect in the candlelight though, his eyelids twitching ever so slightly and a gentle murmur sporadically pushing through his parted lips. With color in his cheeks again he was starting to make some progress towards normality as well, though it was too soon for his heart-wrenchingly gaunt and boney appearance to have really changed.

Kyle's midday nap meant Stan had some time on his hands though, and actually he had a pretty big list of things to do. First, while it was probably still light outside he had to make a trip out of the Ranch, and then when he got back he wanted to check in on everyone, in particular his mom, Liane (which he was dreading) and Kenny. He set off towards Jimbo and Ned's house, making sure to shut the basement and front doors securely behind him before he slipped under the makeshift tent and into the outside world.

He tried not to think too much about Jimbo and Ned. Sure, he'd found them pretty irritating as a kid and used to see them as rednecks, but they were good people, and they were family. Apparently Ned had been upstate visiting family on the day of the Event, which explained his absence from the bunker. Stan hadn't asked the same question about Randy as the other surprising absentee though, since he'd probably run off to try and save himself, or was out doing something else equally selfish when the Event happened. He could rot in hell for all Stan cared now. After actually seeing what had become of his mom and Kyle he was all out of sympathy. Ignorance wasn't a good enough excuse.

He decided to walk instead of taking the truck for such a short distance, but after a couple of minutes Stan broke out into a jog. He was uncomfortable about being away from Kyle for any length of time while he was still so weak. It wouldn't take long, just a quick run to Jimbo's, grab a gun, run back.

He was fairly sure he wouldn't actually dare to use it, but if the unthinkable happened he wasn't going to stand their helplessly while Kyle suffered.

X

"Ouch." Butters placed a hand on his forehead and starting massaging the skin. "Stan do you think I could h-have another one of those pain killers? My head sure is killing me."

"Sure." Stan retrieved the box from his back pocket and handed Butters an aspirin. "I still can't believe you're actually awake..."

"Eugh." Butters pulled a face as he swallowed down the tablet. "Why do you all keep saying that? It's like everyone's congratulating me just for breathing."

"Yeah, well that's a pretty fucking impressive achievement in the state you're in." Kenny chimed in, and Stan noted the incredibly serious expression he had on his face. "Three days ago you looked like death itself. I was so worried about you."

"Oh, I'm real sorry Ken. I wouldn't ever want to worry you or -"

"Dude! Seriously? I'm not blaming you for anything!" Kenny laughed, reaching for Butters' frail hand and wrapping his larger one around it.

"So are you going to explain all of this to me or what?" Butter asked, raising a blond eyebrow quizzically.

"That's my cue to leave." Stan said, bored stiff of explanations. If he never said the words 'The Event' again it would be too soon. "You can take it from here Kenny."

He walked towards the improvised 'kitchen area', where he'd spotted Kyle's telltale red hair in the glow of one of the candles. He was feeling more than a little anxious, since although Butters was awake the news didn't lift his spirits as much as it should have. The rest of them were all out of bed and moving around now, even Kyle, which meant it was almost time to go outside.

If there was a significant amount of tainted blood left inside of them then they would surely die. If Felix was wrong about the infection being confined to the blood, they would die. It was the last hurdle, but it was maybe the biggest one of all.

"Hey." He wrapped an arm around Kyle's waist, smiling at the way he was pigging out; soup on the go and an assortment of long-life snacks in his hands. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Hey, fuck you!" Kyle laughed. "If there is one moment in my life I won't feel guilty about over-eating, it's now."

"You sure about that? I think I can make out some love handles forming..." Stan patted Kyle's waist for added effect, though of course there was not a single molecule of fat on him.

"How's Butters, any better than this morning?" Kyle asked, keeping his voice down.

"He looks surprisingly well." Stan replied, and it was true - he had only woken from what must have been a week-long coma a few hours ago but was already lucid and talking to people.

"That's fantastic. I can't believe how healthy my mom looks again either." Kyle tipped his head down and stared at the floor. "It feels like we've been given too much good fortune"

"Not to me it doesn't. At least not until I know you won't burn up the moment you step outside." Stan wasn't planning on getting ahead of himself. "I mean then there's Shelly, Jimbo, Cartman, Kenny's parents..."

Just as he trailed off Kyle placed a hand on his shoulder, "I know, I'm sorry. I guess being down there made me think that as long as we're both alive and together, I've already had more than my fair share of luck."

"When are we going to do it?" Kyle then asked, changing topic pretty abruptly. "I mean I've been walking around for a day now."

"What, go outside you mean?"

"Uh- yeah." Stan could feel his own face contort with anxiety even talking about this. His mind was still so indelibly scarred by Cartman's death that he had now seen a thousand varieties of Kyle suffering the same fate; screaming in agony the second sunlight touches him, doubling over on the ground, or worst of all once they both think they've waited long enough and he's safe, he just fades away in Stan's arms.

"I don't know, soon I guess. Should we wait until someone else goes out, to see if it's safe?" Stan asked quietly.

"No, we can't do that! We can't use people as test runs, it wouldn't be right." Kyle stopped eating and gave Stan a stern look. "You look so worried; imagine feeling that for another day, or two, knowing we have to face it eventually. We should just get it over with."

"You mean right this second?"

"Yeah. This fear is only going to get worse the longer we leave it. It's like ripping off a band-aid, if we do it suddenly it'll be easier." He could tell Kyle was becoming more and more convinced by this idea even as he spoke, which was dangerous.

"But what if – what if it goes wrong? This might be our last day together, and we haven't done anything special…" He didn't understand why Kyle was so brazen about this; it was making him sweat just thinking about it.

"I don't need to do anything special, I'm with you - this is far more than I thought was possible." Kyle grabbed both of his hands and gave him a full on imploring face. This was what he always did when he _really _wanted to get his way. Stan did a sad face and puppy-dog eyes, Kyle went very serious and emphasized how much things 'meant to him'. They were both pretty effective in their own way.

"I don't know…"

"Hey, I'm the one that might die! Please Stan, I can't sit down here in this gloomy place spending all day worrying about this anymore. We have to take this risk at some point, so let's just do it now."

Stan sighed loudly, and it must have given the game away that he was about to concede, since Kyle's face lifted. "…Okay. But just for the record, it's not just your life that's at risk. If you die, mine is over too." It was dramatic but genuinely true, there would be nothing left for him in this life if Kyle died, let alone all the others too.

"Thank you." Kyle leant forward and pressed a kiss against Stan's lips. "Let's tell our parents we're going."

"I just want to say, before we do this..." Stan started, wanting to get something off his chest. God, this seemed insane. "If it goes wrong, you'll know I was only trying my best for you, right? You wouldn't blame me would you?"

"Oh Jesus. Of course I wouldn't blame you. Promise me you wouldn't live the rest of your life feeling pointlessly guilty?"

"I promise." Stan replied. He would collect the gun from under his bed and slip it into the waistband of his jeans before they went up. A long life of guilt wasn't going to be an issue.

Stan had a tearful conversation with his mom while Kyle was with his parents, then they met by the door of the basement. He tried to pull himself together, since his reluctance was probably only making things ten times harder for Kyle. He took the lead and opened the door, glancing back at the candle-lit laboratory once more before starting to climb the stairs.

"Oh God...are we really doing this?" Kyle's voice was shaky, little more than a whimper.

"If you've changed your mind, we can turn back, we can give it more time..." He replied softly, stopping halfway up the stairs. The fear had clearly hit Kyle all at once, but Stan wouldn't actually mind turning back either. In fact, the idea of spending the rest of their lives underground wasn't seeming so bad now he was actually here - at least they would definitely have a life together.

"No, ignore me, I'm being stupid. We can do this, Stan. I have completely uninfected blood, I'm going to be fine." Kyle nudged Stan in the back as he spoke. "Come on, let's go."

When they got to the front door, Kyle reached for Stan's hand, intertwining their fingers. "Are you ready?" Stan asked. His stomach felt like it was trampolining inside his gut, and he was getting little flecks in his vision, something that only happened right before-

He stood up straight again, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his mouth with it. The taste of vomit was at least something he was fairly accustomed to. "I'm okay." He muttered, looking over to find that Kyle hadn't even been paying attention, but was just staring at a point on the door. It was a spot of yellow, where the most minuscule prick of light was squeezing through a tiny gap between the door and its frame.

"I'm ready." Kyle said eventually. He was squeezing Stan's hand ferociously for someone with almost no muscle strength, and his knuckles were paper white.

"A cliched 'I love you' and final kiss before we face it?" Stan was trying his hardest to seem more at ease, in the clearly futile hope that it might relax Kyle.

"Fine, but this isn't necessary. I'm not dying out there."

"I know, I -"

"Boys!" Stan was cut off by what sounded like Sheila and Sharon yelling in unison. "Boys are you okay?"

"We're fine! Don't come up after us under any circumstances, remember?" Stan shouted down the stairs. If they didn't manage to come back then hopefully the others would never go outside. He'd tried to explain to his Mom that in the worst case scenario it was better to starve than go out there, but he wasn't sure how much of what he'd said had been absorbed.

"Where were we?" Stan asked, before tilting Kyle's chin to press their lips together. He kept his mouth firmly shut out if consideration for the after-effects of his nervous stomach.

"I love you." Kyle said, giving Stan what might be one last perfect view of his striking eyes. It wasn't actually the color that was so remarkable about them, not to Stan anyway. They were honest - full of integrity - or at least that was what he saw.

"I love you too, more than I think is healthy." Stan said, opening up the front door and stepping out. "We're together, remember? That's more than we hoped for."

They walked straight on, out of the tent and into the warm midday sun. Stan saw Kyle clamp his eyes shut from the brightness, and pulled him into a hug. For a second they were frozen in silence; Kyle's hands were resting on his back just above where the handle of the gun poked out of his waistband, but he didn't seem to notice it. Stan would be strong if he had to, he would use it.

"Do you feel anything?" He whispered into Kyle's ear.

"A...a tingling, I think." Stan's heart was pumping at maximum speed now, thumping loudly in his ears, and his lungs felt suddenly small, forcing him to take rapid breaths to get a fill of oxygen. He was squeezing Kyle even tighter now. "It's okay though, it doesn't feel...bad. I think, I think it's passing..."

A warm breeze licked around their necks and made a cluster of nearby trees rustle. Stan thought he might have even heard a bird chirrup somewhere close. It made him see how greedy he'd been his whole life. He used to get periodically depressed when the world seemed shit and pointless, or he couldn't get enjoyment from school, music or TV. In reality it was his own fault - he'd been asking the universe for too much. Standing there, with the sunlight on their backs, all he needed was already in his arms.

x

_More to follow..._


	14. Chapter 14

_November 14__th __-_

_730 Days since The Event._

_x_

"Is this okay?" Stan turned away from the mirror so Kyle could take a look. He'd been adjusting that tie for the better part of ten minutes.

"Uh." Kyle held back a snigger when he saw the short, wonky abomination hanging around Stan's neck. "Here, let me give you a hand."

"I hate this shit so much." Stan groaned while Kyle tried to salvage the situation.

"There you go, that's passable." Kyle turned him back to face the mirror. "Voila."

"You're a miracle worker. Now let's just get this over with." Stan slipped past him and out of the room, grabbing a jacket and bounding down the stairs. Kyle followed, shutting the door to Stan's bedroom (now _their_ bedroom, he supposed) and joining him and Sharon by the front door. They'd been living together with her in the Marsh family house for a while now, and he kind of liked it. A place to themselves would be nice of course, but that would have to wait until Sharon seemed ready to lead an independent life again. She and Randy had always had their problems, but his death had still shaken her up, let alone losing her only daughter as well. Besides, everyone had taken his and Stan's public relationship in their stride so they didn't have to hide, and Sharon more than anyone. Coming out seemed so trivial after everything else that had happened.

They set off towards the town center (walking of course, cars were only allowed if it was an absolute necessity) at a brisk pace, led by Stan's unstoppable desire to get there quickly and leave early. Today was two years exactly since the day 'it' had happened, and the town was putting on a service to remember the dead and pay tribute to everyone that helped them. To say Stan was slightly uncomfortable with this would be a colossal understatement, but they were suited up and going anyway.

Kyle was becoming extremely fond of the way the town looked at the moment. There was no ash on the ground, and apart from the permanently snowy mountain peaks there was no icy chill to be seen yet. The buildings everywhere were run down, some totally collapsed and burnt or others just slowly suffering from neglect, but now there were plants sprouting up where concrete had been before. Vines crept up the rubble of the old Elementary school and tall grass covered large empty patches right across town. There was something reassuring and alive about it all.

There were even signs of animal life returning as well. Most plants hadn't been affected, since they only take the chemicals they need from the air and nothing more, but other animals had suffered just the same as humans. Birds were appearing from the south though, and brought with them this optimism that maybe not everywhere was hit as badly as they had been; maybe that stupid gas didn't spread evenly across the earth. Stan was adorably excited by any new arrivals, and he'd taken to keeping a record of all the species he'd seen reappear in South Park.

When they arrived in the middle of town there was a small structure standing where a ruined shop used to be. It looked fairly uninteresting, rectangular and covered with cloth, but a group of about fifteen to twenty people were gathered around it. They joined the back quietly, waiting for something to happen. Aside from the survivors at the Ranch and the bunker there were a handful from other areas that had shown up in South Park, thanks to Kenny and Butters' daily battery-powered radio broadcast. They had been advertising it as a 'glorious fresh community' and the 'new capital of the USA'. It was all a bit ridiculous.

A millionaire from Wyoming was saved by his airtight panic room, strangely only because the ventilation system was broken. It left him hiding in there for a couple of days until the air became thin and the oxygen ran out, but when he stepped outside he was the only survivor in his town. There were three marine biologists as well, who'd been out on a deep-sea mission in a submersible, totally unaware of the havoc being wreaked miles above them. Also – though Kyle noted he hadn't shown his face today – there was a scientist named Felix, that Stan had met at the research institute and they went back to rescue. It was understandable if he didn't show up to this, though Kyle was pretty sure he was the only one Stan had told about what the institute – and Randy – had really done.

"Hello Alphonse, how are you?" He was surprised to turn around and see Stan greeting Dr. Mephesto and Kevin, who were standing right next to them. They truly were social recluses, so it was rare for them to be out in public. He watched in amusement as Stan gave the old man an awkward handshake-hug.

"I'm well, thank you. Actually I had a breakthrough a couple of days ago that I wanted to share with you; my prototype solar panels have restored power to the Ranch."

"That's fantastic." Kyle said, deciding to enter the conversation instead of standing there like a complete...well, like Kevin was. "You'll have to show us how to make our own."

"Of course, you two can drop by whenever. It does require some specialist materials though..." The most solitary, grumpy man in town had said they could 'drop by whenever'. You didn't hear that every day. Kyle wasn't really that bothered about getting electricity back though, he was just making conversation. In fact he'd grown quite fond of their new, more traditional way of life. Their day was governed by the hours of daylight and they had started working the land for food. They couldn't produce enough to sustain themselves yet (regular raids of grocery stores state-wide were still required), but it was coming along.

"Quiet!" An all-too-familiar voice boomed over their conversation. Oh god. "Welcome, everyone, to our first commemoration service." His mother just _had_ to be the one running this thing. He wondered why she hadn't mentioned that detail to him, or why Kenny – who had told him about this thing in the first place – hadn't either. A simple 'oh, by the way your Mom's doing the speech' wouldn't have killed him.

"Firstly I'd like us all to take a moment to reflect and remember everyone we have lost." She began, and a painful silence fell over everyone. It really was so much to think about that for most of the last six months they had all been pushing it as deep as possible into the recesses of their minds. Obviously that wasn't easy, but if you wanted to lead any kind of life you had to. Some nights he and Stan would stay up until the early hours of the morning and talk about the guys from their old class or which relatives they really missed though, and he kind of felt like that was a nicer way to remember people. He knew for a fact that quite a few of the survivors were uncomfortable with the idea of this memorial, as if one day could ever mark something that changed the world so much. The day they were saved might have been a more fitting date to choose, at least.

When he died he would rather his loved ones remembered him through something small that happened or something personal that's said, rather than standing out in the cold November air trying to collectively feel sad. Still, his mom was only trying to do the right thing. His family clearly had a certain amount of guilt about having all survived, even though Stan always told him it was stupid to feel bad about something totally random.

"Now, I would like to thank Stephen Stotch for helping build this memorial to those who lost their lives in South Park. Obviously we haven't managed to collect every name, but this is a start." With that she pulled the sheet from what was genuinely a chunk of wall with some engraved wooden panels screwed in. It looked awful, though he supposed they didn't have a lot to work with.

Kyle spotted Kenny and Butters through the crowd, holding hands, and he nudged Stan and nodded his head in their direction. When Stan saw them he grinned back, wrapping an arm around Kyle and pulling him close. Those two had spent ages circling around the fact that they _clearly _loved each other; it was probably because Butters wasn't ready to face that reality yet (until the last few days, it seemed).

"The top panel commemorates people who lost their lives in a moment of bravery, or were particularly selfless in the face of the crisis." As much as he hated to admit it her voice was perfect for the occasion, loud with a strong hint of authority for some reason. "Those people are: Jimbo Kern and Ned Gerblansky, for having the foresight to construct a shelter and the generosity of spirit to share it with us. They will be dearly missed."

There was a brief silence for that to sink in before she continued, "Randy Marsh, for his brave attempt to leave the bunker and find supplies."

Kyle felt Stan tense next to him immediately. They were the only two people in the crowd who knew the truth. "You did the right thing." Kyle whispered, and he really believed Stan had. Telling everyone would gain nothing and only upset Sharon, and at least they could take comfort in the fact that Randy left the bunker himself instead of letting Gerald go.

"And Eric Cartman," His mother's voice suddenly rang out again. "Who undertook a dangerous journey to Denver in search of a cure."

What? Now it was his turn to be bewildered and angry. Fucking Cartman? That boy had never done anything selfless in his entire life. It felt so wrong that his own mother was stood there hailing the boy who used to love tormenting him as a 'hero'.

"It's okay, Kyle." Stan whispered back, clearly picking up on his anger too.

"How? You said he went just went because he was hungry, and hid somewhere safe when you went outside!" He had to keep reining his voice in and whisper-shouting to avoid causing a scene. Kyle wasn't sure why it made him so angry - he genuinely felt bad about what had happened to Cartman, he just didn't want him getting honors for being his usual self.

"That's just what he kept telling me. I'm not sure I believe it." Stan whispered back. "They still had some supplies in the Ranch, would anyone really risk their life and go through all that for some extra food?"

"Uh, it's Cartman?" That seemed like the most obvious answer ever. "I don't know though, it's not worth worrying about. I feel terrible about what happened to him."

Stan said nothing after that, and just stared forwards as Sheila babbled on about the importance of marking this day every year. Thankfully Kenny and Butters were making their way through the small crowd towards them, which might save him from the mind-numbing stupidity of it all. His patience for this service and the 'goodwill' behind it had just about run out. Were they even going to _mention _Stan?

"Hey fellas." Butters said pulling Kyle into a hug before Kenny did the same.

"Hi guys." He replied absentmindedly. As soon as this was over he planned on dashing back to the house with Stan. His parents had invited Sharon over for dinner so they would have the place to themselves for once. He didn't think they'd be bored...

"But of course, there is something that has been blatantly ignored so far." The voice came even louder now from next to the 'memorial wall'. Clearly she'd realized she was losing the crowd and had turned up the volume to try to regain their attention.

"All of us being here is only possible thanks to one, incredibly brave young man."

"Oh god." Stan muttered. Kyle knew this was the reason he'd been dreading coming today. "Shoot me, someone shoot me please."

"So in honour of him, this will now be known as the Stanley Marsh Memorial." Sheila unveiled an engraved plaque at the top the wall bearing the title.

Kenny started laughing next to him, the sort of uncontrollable giggle of a schoolboy, who knows he shouldn't be laughing but that only makes everything funnier. "Dude, they've named that _thing_ after you!"

Butters cracked up at that, and Kyle actually found himself trying and failing to suppress a laugh. Pretty much everyone was now staring at them intently.

"Thank you Stanley, this is just a small token of the town's gratitude." Sheila carried on, giving Kyle a glare. Luckily Stan was keeping it together, but the corners of his mouth were upturned in a smirk.

"Thank you." He said eventually, covering his mouth with his hand to hide what Kyle knew was laughter but he was skilfully turning into looking emotional and touched.

Everyone applauded after that, and then the whole thing was over, with people standing around to chat and make dinner arrangements. The community was so small that everything was still done in groups.

"Good job keeping your shit together." Kenny joked, poking Stan in the ribs. "Actually Butters was suggesting they renamed Stark's Pond 'Stan's Pond' in your honor, but really this is far more impressive, don't you think?"

They were all just laughing loudly now, and Kyle watched with a mixture of amusement and horror as his mother approached looking stern.

"Boys! This is very disrespectful!" She had her voiced raised to be dominating but just below a shout – something she had mastered quite impressively. Kyle was glad to see her back to full fighting strength.

"Our friends would appreciate that we can remember them in a happy way, mom." He retaliated. He didn't want a full blown argument though. "Besides, Stan was laughing and he's the guest of honor, so we're allowed right?"

"No Bubbeleh, that's not how it works. I'm still your mother remember, what I say goes." Kyle smiled and nodded. He wouldn't have it any other way.

"Do you guys wanna come over for dinner tonight?" Butters asked the other three once Sheila had wandered off in search of Gerald. "I'm making pasta with tomato sauce. This batch of vegetables is looking pretty promising, if I say so myself."

"Count me in." Kenny said quickly. "Your stuff always tastes so good; I don't know how you do it." Kyle couldn't argue with that; Butters was becoming something of an expert at growing everything, and was a decent cook too. He and Stan just didn't have the same flare for it.

"Stan?" He asked, trying to gauge the dark-haired boy's thoughts.

"Yeah, sure I'd love to come thanks. There's something I want to do first though..."

"Something or _someone_?" Butters laughed, holding out his hand for Kenny to high-five. That was worrying. Kyle gave it about a month before what was left of Butters' innocence was all gone.

"Oh, and would it be ok if I brought Karen along tonight Butters?" Kenny asked. They all knew the reason for this was to keep an eye on her. Ike and Karen's weird closeness in the bunker had been one thing, but they were still spending a lot of time together and everyone was well aware of Ike's 'thing' for older women.

"Of course! The more the better. I have enough food for five I think." Butters must have been doing well if he could easily put on a spread for five at short notice. "Would you be able to give me a hand with the cooking Ken?"

"Nothing could make me happier, Leopold." Kenny wrapped an arm around Butters shoulders and began to lead him off. "We'll see you boys around seven then?" He asked, and Kyle and Stan both responded by nodding lamely, in synch.

"So what do you need to do then?" Kyle asked once the others had cleared off. "You've been so quiet all afternoon..."

"I want to check something at the ranch, now they have power back. There's this one part that doesn't quite add up still." Stan replied, grabbing Kyle's hand. "I'm fine though, it's nothing to worry about."

Kyle assumed he was allowed to come along, and he still harbored this burning curiosity about all the details Stan hadn't told him, but he knew he couldn't really push the issue. He'd told Stan absolutely everything of note from his time in the bunker, but it didn't seem fair to expect the same back yet.

It didn't take long to get back to the outskirts of town, though as the sun dropped in the sky it was getting rapidly colder. Winter was approaching, which would be another new challenge for them to face in this different world. They walked up the hill, following the long drive up to the front door of a building that had seemed so scary once, a long time ago. Stan knocked a couple times. They hadn't been back here at all in the last few months, and the place still held a strange power over Kyle, as his life was inexorably tied to what had happened in this place.

"Hello boys," Alphonse pulled open the door, looking a little surprised to see them again so soon. "Are you here about getting power already?"

"No not yet, actually I was just wondering if I could use some of yours?" Stan asked, rubbing his hands together to stop the fingers from going numb. Neither of them had brought heavy coats, and Kyle was now desperate to get inside for protection from the wind chill alone.

Alphonse ushered them in. "The output is really low so we don't have much. If it's important, however, then of course you can."

"I really think it is. Thank you." Stan said. Kyle grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. He didn't know what was going on but he would be there for support, whatever it was.

Stan led them down the steps to the basement, which had now been cleaned out and looked almost exactly as it had before any of this had happened.

"Do you keep all of your old CCTV tapes?" Stan asked Alphonse, while his eyes were scanning the room, clearly searching for them.

"I normally keep about the last six months' worth, but I stopped updating after…you know."

"That's perfect, can I see one?" Alphonse nodded and walked them to the corner of the lab where a desk and computer sat. It was outdated, with a chunky monitor and a thin layer of dust over the keyboard.

"The top drawer is for the camera by the front door, the bottom drawer is for the one that monitors the gate. They are all sorted chronologically."

"Here." Stan muttered, pulling a tape with a particular date scribbled on it from the bottom drawer and blowing the dust off it.

"I'll let you two have some privacy. Try to be as quick as you can." Alphonse said, heading back up the basement stairs. Stan booted up the PC, sliding the tape into the VCR connected to it. The screen slowly spluttered into life, turning on at a glacial pace.

"What are you looking for?" Kyle finally asked, pulling up a nearby stool and sitting down next to Stan who was in the desk chair.

"I remember them saying that the camera gives you a view of the street. Supposedly when Eric and Liane saw me lying on the road they brought me in, but I have this feeling..."

Stan tailed off as the footage started, and he pressed the fast forward button on the VCR. The empty street flickered as time sped through, with just the occasional car flying past, until Sparky appeared in the top corner of the screen, pulling Stan along behind him.

"Are you sure you want to watch this?" Kyle asked as the footage returned to normal speed.

"Yeah, it's okay." The on-screen Stan was walking along with his headphones in, tapping his hand against his thigh to the beat of whatever he was listening to. As he got close to the Ranch gates where the camera was situated he turned, looking both ways before stepping out onto the road.

The inevitable happened next; a car came blazing onto the screen at a ridiculous speed, the driver's mad rush of apocalyptic panic ready to collide with Stan's oblivious world. It happened too quickly and the footage was too jolty to see the details, which Kyle was eternally grateful for. Sparky's fate was obscured by Stan's body from this camera angle too, which was another blessing. The car was clearly using the breaks but it was pointless, and Stan's body flew over it like a ragdoll, completely limp.

"Hey wait, that's Liane's car, isn't it?!" Kyle blurted, suddenly noticing the familiar light blue station wagon she had bought a few years back.

"Yeah." Stan replied, seemingly not surprised or annoyed at the revelation that it had been Liane that hit him rather than just finding him by the road.

The car finally shuddered to a halt just in camera shot. Then the driver-side door swung open, and...Eric came out. Kyle didn't realise he was even insured to drive that car - his mom had bought him his own pickup truck for his sixteenth birthday, so why would he be? They had been in a race against time though, and Kyle considered that maybe Eric was simply a faster driver. Rules about insurance didn't exactly apply that day, either.

Kyle watched as Eric sprinted (faster than he'd ever seen him move outside of the football field) over to where Stan's body was slumped against the floor. For a while he was hunched over him - maybe checking he was still alive? Kyle tried to see how present-tense Stan was reacting but there wasn't much being given away by his face, other than perhaps a hint of…happiness?

Cartman then ran back to the car and started hurling things out of the back seats, mainly food and bottles of water. After a while it looked like this plan was abandoned, and Eric now ran to the entrance of the Ranch. He was close to the camera, the panic on his face fairly obvious as he rattled on the gates. Kyle would have expected him to have just driven home – maybe not totally unconcerned but certainly not behaving like this.

Finally Cartman seemed to find a latch and managed to unlock the gates, pushing the iron structures back aggressively. Stan was placed in the passenger seat of the car and Liane hopped into the driver's side, swinging it around and heading up the winding driveway as Eric jogged behind. Then they were out of shot, and Stan leant over to switch off the monitor. When Kyle looked over at him, he was crying. Not full on sobbing, but quietly letting tears slip down his cheeks.

"Are you okay?" He placed an arm around Stan's waist, and pulled their bodies together.

"Yeah. I'm fine." Stan replied, smiling at him even while the tears kept coming. "It makes sense now, y'know?" Kyle didn't reply beyond murmuring something meaningless into Stan's shoulder. "I knew he didn't come to Denver for food or anything like that. He came because he felt guilty."

"I guess..." Kyle replied, a little unsure of what he was supposed to say next.

"Kyle, he came because he _cared_. Not just about me - he would've just stopped me from going if he wanted to protect me, he cared about you too."

That point hadn't really occurred to Kyle until then, but it made sense in a way. They'd had trouble with Cartman right through High school; he'd started acting out more and more, and even Kenny didn't claim to be friends with him by senior year. He'd seemed totally emotionless, even though Kyle had known that couldn't have been true. For some reason it mattered to him that Cartman had done something like that before he died, and even more so to Stan, clearly. Maybe because he knew Stan must have been there when Cartman was exposed to sunlight, and must have watched him die without being able to help. If Stan hadn't witnessed that happening and had gone to Denver alone, things could have played out so differently. To begin with he wouldn't have known the Event was still dangerous to them, and he might even have made the emergency broadcast and urged everyone to go outside, which was a shudder-inducing thought.

"Yeah, he did care. I'm so grateful for that." Kyle said softly, and he felt at ease saying it as well.

Stan pulled back from the hug, grabbing the side of Kyle's head and smashing their lips together. Kyle was used to feeling like a particularly cherished antique vase that had just been glued back together whenever Stan held him or kissed him recently, but this was different. It was impatient, and urgent. It felt _important_, like the last barrier was lifted from between them now, at last.

Kyle could taste tears on Stan's lips, and he was sure the lingering flavour of the moderately stale saltines they'd had for lunch was still in both of their mouths. He tugged on Stan's bottom lip with his teeth, overwhelmed by this energy that he last remembered from fooling around in his bedroom two years ago.

"Uh - we should get back. We're going to be late for Butters' big dinner." Stan panted, their foreheads pressed together still.

"Yeah. Okay." Kyle replied, choosing not to be the first to move though.

"God, us two, and him and Kenny - we're the worst possible survivors of this thing." Stan muttered. "How are we going to repopulate the earth together exactly?"

"I have no idea." Kyle said, laughing. He started to walk back towards the stairs, Stan following behind him. "Want to try anyway?"

"Fuck yes."

X

THE END.

_A/N:_

_Wow, it's weird that this is over! It feels like I've been writing it for ages and yet it's ended so quickly as well, though that makes no sense ;)_

_I wanted to make the last chapter all Kyle's POV, mainly since the first one was as well._

_So…thanks so much to all the readers and reviewers, and everyone that favourited. You all made this such a wonderful experience to write._

_Special thanks to the people who stuck with this and reviewed from the very beginning, so: ScaryBones, AKA 24601, Montana-Bob, Fluffybunny2k11 and any guests I missed _

_I have a few ideas knocking around for a sequel to this, so you never know, and I also have a couple of other things planned so be on the lookout for them…_

_I want to quickly credit a TV show from the UK called 'Mitchell and Webb', which inspired the idea of the original 'emergency broadcast'._

_And of course I'd love to hear your thoughts on the final chapter, as always. _

_Thanks again, hope you enjoyed it!_


End file.
